#like somebody with combat experience

[the-narwhals-awaken]

Bloody Hearts Bingo Day 17

Prompt: See Ya, Whump | No matter what you say, or what you do, I'ma hunt you down 'til I find you

Rukia was well used to fury. Most didn't think it of her- tiny, good at seeming sweet for a few moments at least, brash and bold by nature but through a combination of the Kuchiki tutors and Sode no Shirayuki's demands and influence impeccably graceful and capable of being demure, with an ice-natured zanpakutou.

What most people forgot was that Sode no Shirayuki wasn't ice, exactly. Ice in and of itself didn't exactly forbid fury- ice was sharp and very easy to dispose of, so most ice-wielders with a temper didn't get caught easily- but it didn't seem furious the way fire or even lightning did. Sode no Shirayuki wasn't ice, though. Rukia wasn't quite sure what it was- snow wasn't it, but there were a concerning number of ice-and-snow-related subtypes and she only had so much time that she could spend digging through archaic texts and attempting to get answers out of her spirit before she had to go stab something or cool off somewhere else.

Rukia had held fury before. At the world, to keep her alive; at whoever had gotten in her way, out in the Rukon; at the world and a few particular Kuchiki elders, when she'd been adopted; all of that paled in comparison to what she felt towards Aizen. He'd ended up worse than scum just for what he'd planned- huge amounts of slaughter, destruction of the only forms of protection left for the spiritually powerful in exchange for even more chaos and destruction and a faint promise of 'things being better'. If he'd done anything at all to progress his goal in his time as a Captain, Rukia might have had a smidgen of mercy for him- not much, but a little- but he'd perpetuated the system he complained about and seemed unaware of the hypocrisy.

Hearing that he'd nearly kidnapped Inoue had been the last straw. For all his fuss about- well, everything, really- he certainly had no qualms about dragging the living into his fight. For that, and for all else that he'd done- hurting Momo, betraying every oath he'd ever taken like they meant nothing to him, all the people she cared about who could no longer trust their senses- she would make him pay.

Unfortunately, Aizen came with an army of the most fucked-up Hollows she'd ever seen or heard of, and they needed manpower. Rukia had gotten the mission- as an official Lieutenant, she was allowed to run off on her own to do things, and as the one with the most experience with those involved, she'd gotten first dibs.

If her timing wasn't being monitored- mostly because the Kido Corps was working on something weird with the cross-dimensional timing and she was being used as a test case- she would have ran off to spend some time with Ichigo and his friends- help out with Hollow patrol and relax from the war preparations. Even home wasn't safe- the elders were torn between retired Shinigami who understood but were grouchy about things and those who had never served, who did not understand and were being ever-more-strict about protocol in an attempt to compensate.

Instead, she knocked at the side door of the Shouten- the one she'd been instructed to use whenever on Gotei buisness.

Rukia was fairly certain that whatever C46 had intended with the draft document- now that she'd read it herself- was not going to work, if only because Urahara had made it clear he could get what he wanted without having to deal with jurisdiction issues.

It hardly mattered, though- she had another letter for Ichigo and his friends, and they'd accept- they had no reason not to, and Ichigo had already been willing to help. Formalizing it would only help them- they'd get pay, and supplies, and the same legal protections every Gotei member got. More importantly, it would ensure that should things get bad enough to get to Karakura, they wouldn't have just the Thirteenth to keep things properly wrangled.

This letter, fortunately, was accepted much better- and even better for the timing, all of them happened to be working through something in one of the side rooms of the Shouten. It looked to be homework, which Rukia politely ignored- it was good practice for the confidentiality training she was going through, at least. It had to be exam season, or nearing it- they looked haggard, and part of Rukia felt bad for the combat that they'd no doubt be going through.

The rest of her was delighted to be fighting alongside friends. Renji had made friends with most of the other lieutenants their age, but she was still working out how she fit with most of them and Momo was still not quite up to fighting shape.

All in all, Rukia thought things were going well. The rage in her heart could handle being put off for a bit, and though she was a bit wary of Urahara- the look in his eye reminded her of the guy who'd ended up having a massive pit full of child's corpses in his garden- he did good work. Aizen would fall and the rest would matter later.

[quadrantadvisor]

I'm trying so hard not to be a hater but the more I learn about other ttrpgs the more the way that people talk about dnd annoys me

[georgescitadel]

I often get the question, “How do you write women?” or “How do you write a dwarf?” Some of that can be resolved by research or talking to people. I had a correspondence with a fan when I was writing the first and second books, long ago, who was a paraplegic, paralyzed from the waist down, and he gave me a lot of valuable insight about how to write Bran and what it would be like. That kind of information from other people, you can never duplicate.

- George R.R. Martin, Ideas At The House (2013)

There are things we all go through, but there are experiences that I haven't had, and when I'm writing about one of those, I try to talk to people who have had that experience. When I first had Bran crippled by his fall from the tower, I had one fan who was paraplegic, and he and I exchanged a number of emails about what it was like to be paraplegic because I could try to imagine that, but I don't actually know it. When I wrote the scene where Sansa has her first period, I talked to a number of women and asked, “What was it like to have your first period? Was it scary? Was it nothing? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” I got about 16 different stories that varied very widely. People who have actually been in combat, I talk to before the combat scenes, and that too varies widely. That's sort of interesting, and, of course, I've read a lot about that. There are some experiences that only women have had in our society, and when I tackle them, I try to consult with women.

- George R.R. Martin, NIFFF Masterclass (2014)

You do have to research the things that can be researched, and sometimes that involves books; sometimes it actually involves talking to people. Those are the trickiest things, if it's a human experience. I'll give you a couple of examples from Game of Thrones. When Bran gets thrown out the window and paralyzed. I'm not paralyzed, I don't have any close friends who are paralyzed, but I wanted to try to get that as accurate as I could, so I did a fair amount of reading about that. I also had a couple of fans who corresponded with me through email about the problems of someone who was paralyzed from the waist down and what it would be like. I also have a scene where Sansa, who is engaged to Joffrey but hasn't flowered yet—hasn't had her first period—so she can't be married by the traditions of Westeros, then has it and is eligible, by medieval standards as well as the standards of Westeros, to be bedded and wedded and bred. Of course, she reacts to that with considerable panic. But I also wanted to know what it is like, and that led to a number of embarrassing conversations with women I knew about: “When did you have your first period? What was it like? Was it painful? Tell me about it!” What I discovered was a wide variety of different stories. It's not always the same thing, so I had to try to make sense of that and do something that had authentic truth to it. Hopefully, I did, but human experience is variable. No matter how much you research, there will be somebody out there who had a different experience, and then they'll write you an annoyed email saying, “You got that all wrong. You don't know anything about that.” Well… okay. But I tried.

- George R.R. Martin, Author Event Series: Featuring Marlon James (2019)

[eliza-and-her-monsters]

Perfectly Misaligned

Vi x reader

Summary: Vi has always been protective over you ever since you moved in next door to a less than savory part of town. Nevertheless though she still tries to play things cool though and not cross any boundaries. Whenever she hears the way your friend really talks to you though from the other side of the door, all bets are off.

Contains: very very au! still kind of new to the arcane/LoL universe so this will not be following canon or anything at all (obvs because it’s fanfic but still), sweet and soft vi, protective vi, depictions and discussions of abuse (physical and emotional), injuries, hurt x comfort trope, fluff fluff and more fluff!! <3

basically a vi version of my first jb one-shot but I still included some differences! once again my first time writing for her so please be gentle! i hope you like it 🥹🩵

(PSA: i’m writing this from experience! if you are in an abusive situation like this please take care of yourself 💙)

“Jesus, have you ever managed to recall a single thing right?!” My best friend seethed, someone who should’ve been my best friend at least as she slung an already chipped dirty plate across the dingy kitchen.

I should’ve kicked her out at the first sign of violence. I shouldn’t have even invited her over to think of it. Somewhere in my stupid brain I thought that talking about it in person would help us work things out more. Maybe because in some way I thought she was more biting over text messages so it wouldn’t hurt as much in person either. Every moment of rationalization got stupider by the second.

“That never happened! I never said any of that! You’re doing just what you always do! Pointing the finger and making me out to be the villian! You really think you’re the innocent one in all of this?!” I yelped as soon as she slammed her hand down on the emotional support water bottle I was currently clutching onto until it hit the floor with a loud thunk.

The sound of a knock on the door made me flinch again, the tears burning my eyes until they started to ache. “Hey, y/n? It’s getting kind of loud over there, are you okay?” The voice followed from the other side of the door. Violet, probably the best neighbor I could’ve asked for in one of the trashiest apartments. It was definitely a rough part of town we lived in, the only thing we could afford really. She always checked in on me though.

I hated how pathetic I felt hugging myself, eyes wide as I peered up at my ‘friend’ as if I was fucking asking for permission. Permission she clearly wasn’t giving me. “Didn’t know you two were so close. Is this someone else you’re hiding me from? Someone else you’re probably painting the worst picture of me to?”

“Y/n, I’m coming in.” Vi echoed, fuck I had almost forgotten I’d given her a spare key for whenever she needed it or just wanted company.

The moment the door swung open though I could feel the weight of my ‘friend’s push shoving me towards the ground. The sting of broken glass biting in my skin as I yelped in pain, bits of blood now streaking across the ground. And Vi had seen every second of it.

“Did you just put your fucking hands on her?” She practically growled as she made her way into the apartment, thick combat boots kicking aside broken glass to make a path.

“Oh c’mon, do I really look like I would hurt somebody? She clearly fell-”

“Yeah, you do. Because that’s all I’ve been hearing you do since the moment I came home and thank god I got here whenever I did-”

“Vi, please don’t-” I squeaked out with yet another wince of pain as I tried to push myself up to a sitting position. I knew how she was. The way she stayed bandaged up and covered in bruises didn’t hide exactly how she made her money. But I had never wanted to see that side of her myself. I didn’t think I could.

The words were lost to me though, lifting my hand as if to latch onto her own only to see a piece of glass protruding from the muscle below my thumb. Vi only took one wide look down at me before shooting a sea of daggers towards the culprit’s way. “I’ll give you a headstart before I break every last finger that you laid on her? How about that?”

“Vi-” I tried to protest again, but I should’ve known better than to believe she’d actually try and stand up to someone like Vi. Towering over both of us with a plethora of tattoos in black ink and enough muscles to put a bodybuilder to shame, she’d be intimidating to anybody. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had stumbled out of her apartment the day I moved in with a hopeful grin on her face as she offered to help me carry things upstairs I probably would’ve been intimidated by her too. But she had charmed me from day one.

“Damn it, doll, what’d she do to you?” She whispered, kneeling amongst the glass without a single care of it scraping her up too. “Is it safe to pull that out?” She wondered, bandaged and bruised fingers gently taking my wrist into her hand to examine the damage on my palm.

“I think so… it isn’t too deep.” I spoke, sucking in another yelp of pain as I yanked the glass from my hand and shakily tossed the now red piece aside. “It’s not that bad- she- she just pushed me.”

“No, y/n-” It was the first time she directed that glare towards me and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me wince at first. Only seconds later though I watched her icy expression soften with a shake of her head. “You can’t excuse it this time, doll.”

I didn’t say anything, even knowing she was right, she stared down at my scraped and cut knees while the tears dripped down my cheeks until they landed on the open wounds and made them sting. Knowing I would probably find some way, some reason to excuse what had just happened. I always did.

“C’mon, baby, let’s go over to my place and get you patched up.” She sighed, almost with a hint of disappointment before sliding an arm around my shoulders and another underneath my knees. I sucked in a breath of pain as I was separated from the pool of glass, microcuts now hitting the air as the pieces that had embedded themselves into my skin clinked to the floor.

My eyes felt heavy, my head already lolling to the side the moment I felt her sweeping me up with ease. My head ached from the amount of arguing, almost worse than the stings of the open wounds. Vi shoved open the door to her apartment next door, still the same chaotic mess it usually was whenever she invited me over. She never showed it, but sometimes I think she felt lonely. She was just the kind of person you could tell even by first glance that she had been through a lot. I never asked though. It never seemed appropriate to get too personal. She was a private person, and I respected that. Or tried to.

“This might sting a little.” She whispered once we made it to her tiny bathroom, leaving me propped up on the sink as she rummaged around for her first aid supplies. I tried to mask my expression of pain the moment she touched the antiseptic to my bloodied knees but ultimately failed as a whimper tumbled from my lips.

“I’m sorry.” I spoke through a sharp breath, “That y-you have to do this. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved in our shit.” I lifted a shaky hand to try and wipe at my eyes, tears that seemed to have miraculously remained at bay until now.

“No, y/n, I got involved on my accord. Because it seemed like somebody needed to.” She shook her head, and I never knew that hands that looked so rough could be as gentle as hers were. Pulling them away from the wounds only to hold my chin in between her thumb and pointer finger. “Has she ever put her hands on you before, doll?”

I shook my head almost immediately, watching her expression harden, eyes icy enough to freeze. “Are you lying?” She asked again, a quiver setting into my bottom lip as she seemed to see through it all. Her anger was unmistakable, the way she pulled her hands away from me only to clench them into fists. Shoulders set like she was about to swing at something, anything. And still somehow I wasn’t afraid of her.

“Vi, Vi please… please don’t go after her right now. Please just- just stay with me. For a little bit, please.” I reached out to slide my hand around her bulging bicep just before she could put her fist through the wall.

I felt her swing around to face me, an arm sliding around my shoulder, fingers knotting through my hair as she held me to her broad shoulder. “You’re more important.” She finally spoke with another long breath that felt like she was loosening every muscle in her body. “She’ll get what’s coming to her though.”

“Promise you’ll be careful.” I begged into the fabric of her tank top.

“I can’t ever promise that, but I’ll always do my best.” The feeling of her fingers running through my hair was almost enough to pull the tears from my eyes again. Gentle touches I wasn’t familiar with. Gentle words I wasn’t used to hearing I almost couldn’t believe them. The feeling of safe muscular arms holding me to her warm chest as I clung onto her like I hadn’t ever done before. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I heard her softly shushing me from above, her chin propping up on top of my head. “Shhh, I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

She was careful whenever she inched away, gently drawing my body from hers. Calloused hands drawing down my bare arms as if checking for anymore tiny cuts the glass might have left. “Let me finish patching you up, and then I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

She wrapped my knees and hand in her bandages and placed little bandaids on every small wound. Whenever we made it back to my place though she didn’t hesitate to sweep up every last bit of the broken glass too before finally letting herself sit down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything, you know? I could’ve taken care of it.” I spoke into my lap, face drawn down as if in shame.

“I think you’ve cleaned up someone’s mess a few too many times.” Vi sighed before stretching an open arm out as if beckoning me in. “C’mere doll.” I was already moving into her arms, taking in her musky scent with just a tinge of iron that she always had whenever she returned from work. “I’m sorry I didn’t wash up first, I just heard the yelling and I came running and-”

“It’s okay.” I said with a shake of my head just before nuzzling into her chest. Her body could’ve swallowed me whole if she wanted it to, I felt like nothing more than a ragdoll curled up into her arms. And I normally would’ve hated it. But with Vi I felt like I could finally be small and sensitive and fragile and I’d be safe. It was just a matter of not having to be on guard 24/7.

Vi cleared her throat from above me, her fingers brushed underneath my chin as if nudging me to look at her. Blue eyes that I felt like were gonna send me into cardiac arrest, and with my hand bundled up into a ball against her chest I swore I could’ve felt her own heart kicking into gear. “Y/n, you know I really care about you, right?”

“After tonight, yeah, I- I think I do.” My cheeks felt like they were on fire, and all I wanted was to hide my face into her shirt again. But with the grip she had on my chin I knew she wouldn’t let me. “I- I care about you a lot too.”

“I know you do, I just feel like a lot of people don’t return the favor, you know? So I just… I want you to know that. I’ve got you. Regardless.” A long breath was shuddered from my lungs at her warm words. Feeling her cracked but soft lips drifting downwards to brush against my forehead just before she finally released my chin.

It felt like they held a lot of weight to them. Almost more than what they let on, than she wanted to let on. At least for now. They were enough though. Enough to get my eyes to tear up pathetically again as I burrowed my face back into her chest with a small sniffle.

“You’re my best friend, Vi.” I muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

She delicately slid her fingers around my wrist, softly stroking my pulse point until my teary eyes fluttered shut, “You’re mine too, darling.”

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[hippiegoth97]

Time of the Season: Eddie Munson x Reader

Collage by me :)

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Description: The one and only Steve Harrington is hosting a party at his house on Halloween night. You help set up and attend said party with your best friend Robin, and you're dressed up as Joan Jett. While you're drinking and dancing, you notice a very handsome man dressed as Ace Frehley from KISS making eyes at you as he leans against the wall. You approach him, and after a little chat and a dance, you make your way to somewhere more private...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, female reader, teasing, groping, suggestive dancing, alcohol and Marijuana use, shotgunning, fingering, oral sex, role-play (kinda?), role-switching, praise/degradation, spanking, consecutive orgasms, (very) rough sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, choking, squirting, and a tiny dash of fluff

Word Count: 10.2k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Time of the Season

"Fuck! Have either of you seen my aviators?" Steve asks, walking into his room as you and Robin are getting ready for his Halloween party. He stands in the doorway, donning his Maverick flight suit from Top Gun and some combat boots.

"No, dingus. We've been a little preoccupied with our own costumes, thank you very much." Robin replies, applying some red lipstick to finish off her Debbie Harry ensemble. You'd helped her volumize her hair to get the right texture, and in return she helped you straighten and feather yours for your Joan Jett costume. You've dressed up as her iconic I Love Rock 'n Roll album cover, it's one of your favorite records. You were lucky enough to find the perfect fuschia blazer at the second-hand store, making it impossible to mistake you for somebody else.

"Sorry, Stevie. I can help you look, once I'm done stabbing myself in the eye with this damn pencil. I'd hate for your Tom Cruise fantasy to be blown apart. Plus, I know you love wearing sunglasses indoors." You always tease Steve, but you do it with love. You've bonded with him and Robin the last couple years, always hanging out and working with them at the video store. You'd had classes with Robin during senior year, and she asked you to help her study. And King Steve had taken you out on a date once, far be it from you to deny Hawkins High royalty your company. That was an awkward experience to say the least, you two had zero romantic chemistry. But you liked being around one another, and shared some common interests. So, friendship was the only logical option.

"Thanks, Y/N. At least somebody wants to be helpful today." Steve says, glaring at Robin in the reflection of the mirror. She sticks her tongue out as a retort, fluffing her hair a teensy bit more until she's satisfied with it. "And hey! It's not a fantasy, I basically am the Tom Cruise of this hick town. I gotta fight the ladies off with a stick sometimes, they just can't get enough of me." He speaks in a cocky tone, and you and Robin collectively roll your eyes.

"Not us, though. We're probably the only two women in Hawkins who can resist your charms, Harrington." You put your eyeliner back into the bag you brought your costume in, turning to face him. "Alright, where did you leave your sunglasses last?" You ask, scanning around his room to see if he was dumb enough to leave them in plain sight. It literally takes one second to locate them, sitting on his damn nightstand. "Nevermind, found 'em." You point to them with a smug grin, and Steve scoffs before looking where you've indicated.

His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, snatching them off the table. "Dammit." He grumbles, slipping them onto his face in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. He storms off downstairs to finish getting the booze and snacks set out, the party starts in about ten minutes.

"I could've told him that, I noticed them sitting there hours ago." Robin says, and you both share a laugh.

"That better not be at my expense, assholes!" Steve shouts from downstairs, which only makes you laugh harder.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Stevie!" You call back, trying to speak clearly through your guffawing. "You're so bad, Robin." You say to her, quietly enough so he won't hear you.

"I never said I was good." She quips. "I suppose we better help him out, people will start showing up soon." You nod, following her lead down the stairs to the kitchen. You find Steve mixing up a slime green concoction in a large punch bowl, and he's currently dumping two large bottles of vodka into it.

"Why does the punch look like swamp water?" You ask, scrunching your nose.

"Ecto-Cooler, duh!" He says, gesturing at the mass of empty juice boxes in the trash. "It's also got Sprite, a little orange juice, and lots of vodka."

"Jesus, you're really trying to get everyone hammered, aren't you?" Your eyes bug out as you watch him fill the bowl practically to the brim with all that booze.

"Of course! What kind of Harrington rager would tonight be without it?" Steve speaks matter-of-factly, tossing the glass bottles into the garbage. He carefully stirs everything up with the ladle, almost spilling the punch everywhere in the process.

"Fair enough." You pick up a plastic cup, taking the ladle from him to taste the green mess. You figure it needs a quality check before it's deemed suitable for party-goer consumption. You look at it swirling around your cup questioningly, before bringing it to your lips. It's surprisingly good, not tasting of alcohol whatsoever. You down the whole thing, letting out a satisfied sound once you swallow. "Fuck, that's good. Very dangerous though, can't taste anything but the juice."

"That's the point, my dear Y/N." He takes your cup, refilling it for you before serving one for Robin and himself. Not a moment later, the doorbell rings. The guests are beginning to arrive. "Hey, can you get the music going while I get the door?" He asks, and you nod agreeably. You head over to the stereo, Steve has the best music setup you've ever seen. It can play any format imaginable, and the sound system is the best that money can buy. You've been tempted to steal it for yourself at times, you'd never be able to afford such a thing on your own. You pop in one of your primo party mixtapes, putting the volume up as high as you can without distorting the sound. The music kicks on, roaring guitar blasting into your face.

You've always been a major rock 'n roll fan, there’s just something about the sound of an electric guitar that drives you wild. It fills you with adrenaline, surging through your veins to compel your body to move. Metal, thrash, punk, glam, psychedelic, you love it all. If it's rock music, it speaks to your soul. Over the next hour or so, the house gradually fills up with the costumed masses. Everyone's guzzling the punch, and you and Robin have had a couple glasses each. You've got a good buzz going, dancing goofily with her and Steve in the sea of bodies. He's had a bit more to drink than you, bumping into people clumsily as he moves to the music.

"Hey, that guy over there has been watching you for a while." Robin shouts in your ear, subtly drawing your attention to a man leaning back against the wall with a cup in his hand. His gaze is striking when you meet it, and he smiles while lifting his cup to acknowledge you.

"He's really cute! I don't recognize him though, most people here went to high school with us. Do you know who he is?" You shout back, smirking in his direction as you look him over. He seems oddly familiar, but you can't quite place him. He's dressed to the nines as Ace Frehley, who just happens to be one of your favorite musicians. He's got long, dark hair, dramatic makeup applied just right, and a space-age jumpsuit with matching boots to top it all off. You wave at him, the alcohol in your system overriding the shyness that would usually be clouding over your mind.

He chuckles, waving back before looking away bashfully. Well, he's certainly handsome, and charming, as far as you can tell. "I have no clue, could be anybody under all that makeup. You should go talk to him!" Robin nudges you, and you stumble forward a couple steps. You blush madly, hoping he didn't see that.

"Alright, I'm goin' in." You say to Robin, straightening your blazer while taking a deep breath to prepare yourself. You strut over to him confidently, clearing a way through the crowd to reach this mystery man. You lean beside him once you make your way over, and he turns to look at you. "Nice costume, Ace." You say, looking him up and down. God, he's even hotter up close. He's got huge brown eyes that stare into your soul, setting your insides on fire as he meets your gaze.

"Thanks. You're lookin' pretty good yourself, Joan." He replies, earning a giggle from you. You're so glad he knows who you're supposed to be, nobody else has managed to guess it correctly. Everyone else thinks you're one of the goddamn Ramones.

"Are you having a good time?" You ask, wondering why he's being such a wallflower. You move a little closer, oddly drawn to him.

"I am now." He replies, his tongue playing at the corner of his mouth in amusement. Damn, he really is charming. Usually a line like that would fall flat as a pancake for you, but the way he says it sounds so sincere.

"Not really one for parties then, I take it?" He shakes his head, taking a sip from his cup.

"Nah, 'King Steve' over there wanted me to supply certain recreational substances for quite a hefty fee. And far be it from me to miss out on a Harrington rager on Halloween. It's impeccable for business." 'Ace' speaks so smoothly to you, his voice slipping into your ears like dark velvet. You're not even put off by him revealing himself to be a drug dealer, you're not one to judge. Especially since you like to partake in such things on a semi-regular basis.

"Ah, an entrepreneur, huh? I'm not just another sale, am I?" You ask, not meaning to be accusatory. You're just genuinely curious, wondering what this interaction could lead to later on.

"Nah, I'd never make such a pretty girl pay. Especially not one dressed up as one of the best musicians of our time." He replies, taking his turn to inch closer now. He peers down at you as his boots give him a considerable boost in his height, reaching forward to stroke your arm gently. It's innocent enough, he's just being friendly. But you'd be lying if you said you aren't starting to sweat inside your costume.

"You wanna dance?" You ask abruptly, thinking he'll probably say no. He's just about to reply when “I Was Made For Lovin' You” comes on over the stereo. His expression is apprehensive, but you hold out your hand like it's nothing at all. "Come on, they're playing your song, Ace." He nods, chugging the rest of his drink and crumpling the cup before dropping it on the ground. He takes you up on your offer, letting you lead him to the dance floor. You find a decent spot, slinging your arms over his shoulders. His hands go to your waist out of instinct, but he's very unsure of himself now.

"I'm not much of a dancer, Joan." He says awkwardly, but you just smile kindly at him.

"That's okay, just follow my lead." You guide him to sway side to side to the beat, and he's thankfully able to keep up. You bounce back and forth, loosening up gradually. He smiles at you as you hold him close, actually enjoying himself. He's even singing along, and he's got a great voice for it. It sends a chill down your spine as he recites the words in your ear. Given the message of the song, he's basically singing about how much he wants to fuck you. Halfway through the song, you let his shoulders go, turning around to press your back against his chest. He almost stops holding your hips, but you keep his hands in place. You maintain a steady pace, casually rubbing your ass against his crotch as the song plays out. You hear him moan against you, which sends a jolt of electricity between your legs.

The song ends, quickly transitioning into “I Wanna Be Your Dog'”. "They're playing your song now, Jett." He says, biting your earlobe. You whimper at the sensation, unable to believe how hot you're feeling right now. You move sensually against him, sliding up and down his body while the suggestive lyrics leave your lips. You take hold of his hands, running them all over you at the opportune times with the song. From your thighs to your breasts, you teasingly let him feel you up. His stiff cock is poking into you, and you're becoming very wet with every single motion the two of you make. You turn back around, stroking his chest seductively while leaning up to sing into his ear.

"So messed up, I want you here." Every break between the lyrics amplifies the impact of what you croon to him. "And in my room, I want you here." You lick his neck as the guitar slams before the next line. His breath shudders onto you, your boldness makes his head spin in the best possible way. "And now we're gonna be face to face." You look in his eyes as you sing this one, poking your tongue out to lick his bottom lip playfully. He just stares in awe of you, his hands grabbing your ass through your leather pants. "And I'll lay right down in my favorite place." Your hand snakes down, ghosting over his erection. "Yeah, you know what that is." You squeeze him gently, and he moans again. Your arms return to his shoulders after a moment, singing the chorus while keeping intense eye contact with him until the song fades away.

He's positively burning with lust, eager to lead you away from the crowd to somewhere more private once you've finished. "C'mon." He says, tightly gripping your hand as he pulls you out of the ocean surrounding you. He's unsure where to go from here, and you take the reins.

"Upstairs, this way." You stammer, unable to wrap your head around how vulgar you'd just been acting with 'Ace' in front of everyone. Although, you're not sure how many people were actually paying attention due to how strong that punch is. You practically run up the steps, anxious to be alone with him. You don't even know each other's real names, but you just know you want to fuck his brains out. It's a party, and you have every intention of making the most of it. You locate Steve's parents room, not wanting to violate his own with this handsome man you’ve managed to capture the attention of. "In here." You practically yank him inside, making him trip over his platform boots.

"Jesus, someone's excited." He quips, quickly maneuvering himself to land on the bed as opposed to the floor. You let his hand go, shutting the door and clicking the lock. You're about to pounce onto the bed, when he takes you by surprise. He pins you against the door, gripping your wrists and holding them above your head. "You've gotta be the sexiest girl I've ever met, and I don't even know your name." He speaks lowly, citrus-scented breath fanning over your face.

"Sure you do, it's Joan." You reply, practically panting as your eyes flick to his lips. You're not sure you want to give up the act just yet. You don't know if he'd like you as yourself, it's better to keep playing pretend. He chuckles at you, even more turned on than before.

"I see, you wanna play it that way? That's fine, I can be ‘Ace’ all night if you want me to." He plants a tantalizing kiss to your lips, just long enough to take your breath away. He lets go of your hands, backing up until his ankles hit the edge of the bed. His boots clomp loudly on the floor as he walks, reminding you of Frankenstein's monster which makes you laugh. "Come here, baby." He gestures at a spot for you, and you happily take it. You sit as close to him as you can, hoping he'll make a real move soon. He pulls out a joint and a small lighter from somewhere in his costume, maybe he has a secret pocket sewn into it. You can tell he's not quite loosened up enough yet, hopefully the weed will calm his jangled nerves. He puts the blunt between his lips, igniting the end. He takes a long puff from it, turning to you. "You ever shotgun before?" He asks, voice strained from holding the smoke in.

"Yeah." You say simply, and he gently takes hold of your chin. You're met with those impossibly large brown eyes again, utterly spellbound. You open your mouth slightly as he positions you, closing your eyes as you prepare yourself for him to kiss you. His painted lips meet yours, and he blows the smoke into your mouth. You suck it in, holding it as best you can before letting it flow back out into the air. He's about to take another puff to do it again, but you grab the sides of his head to smash your lips onto his. He almost drops the blunt, not expecting you to be so ravenous. He returns the kiss, smudging his makeup all around your face as you bite his lower lip. He gasps, letting you slip your tongue through the opening he gave you. He tastes so fucking good, like tobacco, weed and orange juice.

He fights you for dominance, quickly winning out. You moan into the kiss, wanting him to take you now. But you suppose it's not polite to waste a man's pot, so you pull away. He smiles at his face paint leaving a large streak across your chin and mouth, handing you the joint. "Here you go, angel. Let's focus on one thing at a time, and then we can do whatever you want. 'Kay?" He speaks so kindly to you, he's nothing like any other guy you've hooked up with. You take another hit, looking forward to the mixed buzz of weed and booze. You hand it back over, letting the smoke out in a large cloud when you can't hold it any longer.

"I hope this isn't weird, but I swear I know you from somewhere. I can't quite place you, though." You speak quietly, just watching him smoke. His beautifully applied makeup is a bit fucked now, the black and white mixing into a gray hue. You still think he looks sexy as hell, but you kinda wish you knew who you were getting high with.

"It's not weird at all, I can't say I can figure you out either. I mean, I imagine we went to school together. Probably kept to different circles though, not talking to each other even once. But that's alright, better late than never, I always say." He puts a hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently. It only serves to heat you up further, and you slide your blazer off your shoulders. "Feeling a little warm, Joan?" He asks, giving you a sly look. You just nod, blushing wildly as you set it aside.

You take turns passing the blunt back and forth, shotgunning a few more times as you can't get enough of each other's mouths. Before you know it, it's all burned away and the world is moving in slow motion. You've laid down together, legs hanging off the edge of the bed as you stare mindlessly at the ceiling. You're zoned out, only hearing the sounds of your breathing and the din of the party continuing downstairs. You almost forget he's here at all, when you feel his hand on your thigh again. You turn your head to look at him, noticing he's laying on his side to caress you. His head is propped on his hand, elbow dipping into the bed. "Hey there." You say quietly, your head clouded by the alcohol and the drugs as his touch makes your skin tingle. You're taking his image in again, truly appreciating how gorgeous he is.

"Hey." He replies, waiting for your permission to move further. He wants you, in every way you'll give yourself to him. You mirror his position, bringing your legs up onto the bed.

"You're very cute, you know. You're also very odd, though." He quirks an eyebrow at you, confused as to what you mean.

"Oh? In what way?"

"Well, you're kind of a contradiction. You're simultaneously quite confident, but also very unsure of yourself. It's not a bad thing though, I'm highly attracted to odd things." You speak in a seductive tone, peering at him from under your eyelashes. You reach a hand forward, delicately dragging your finger along his body. The material of his costume feels strange under your skin, it's slick and shiny, but not quite leather or latex.

"I'm glad you find me so fascinating, baby. And yeah, I'm usually a pretty cool guy." He says sarcastically, not taking his own words seriously. "But it's not every day that I encounter such a beautiful creature like yourself. The moment I saw you, it really threw me for a loop." He takes your hand in his, still apprehensive to give you both what you so desperately want.

You're growing impatient, you've had an unbearably strong pressure building inside you from the moment you started talking to him. "You can come closer, I don't bite." You smirk at him, hoping he'll accept your invitation. "Not too hard, anyway." You joke, laying back onto the bed to draw him in. 

"Aw, that's too bad. I happen to like it rough." He quips back, drawing a brief giggle from both of you. He follows your lead again, adjusting himself to lay over you slightly. He strokes your cheek lightly, gazing deep into your eyes. "Forgive me if this is corny, but you really are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"It is a little bit, but it's really sweet. You're also the most handsome man I've seen. Now shut up and gimme a 'KISS'." You reply with a laugh, weed always makes you want to say bad puns. You pull on the elastic fabric of his costume, bringing his mouth onto yours. You instantly melt at how warm and soft his lips are, and he moves to fully position himself over you. His hands wander to your chest, shifting your bandana and chain out of the way so he can grope your tits. You moan against him, grabbing the back of his head to tangle your fingers in his hair. You gently tug on his beautiful locks, and he makes very attractive sounds in response.

His knee goes between your legs, rubbing against your clothed heat. You let out another moan, only to have it swallowed up as he shoves his tongue in your mouth. He's driving you crazy, giving you so many sensations at once. Your drug-addled mind can't get enough, all you can think is more, more, more. His lips migrate to your neck, leaving a trail of his makeup along the way. You can feel it smudging all over your skin, but you're oddly aroused by it. He's leaving traces behind, marking you as his, at least temporarily. "Those pretty noises you're making are so fuckin’ sexy, Joan." He speaks darkly between kisses on your throat, drinking in every single moan and gasp you let out.

"Your touch feels so good, baby." You say breathlessly before he bites down on your neck. "Fuck! I need more." You almost yelp at the pain, but it simmers into a feral hunger. You pull harder on his hair, yanking a beautiful, vulgar noise from his throat. He's not afraid to make sounds like most guys are, and it just makes you even wetter than before. His knee continues to grind against you, ramping you up. He stops kissing you, sitting up a bit to pull at the hem of your shirt. You happily let him remove it, anxious to feel his large hands massaging your breasts. He reaches behind your back to undo your bra, discarding that as well. His eyes bulge at the sight of your bare chest, appreciating the sheer beauty of it. "See something you like?" You ask cheekily, blushing as he gawks.

"Yes." His eyes meet yours, and he nods while smirking at you. He quickly begins planting wet kisses all over your chest, painting you even further with reckless strokes of black and white. His tongue swirls around one of your nipples, before he sucks it into his mouth.

"Oh, Ace." You moan out, feeling a bit silly saying his pseudonym in such a dirty way. But you suppose that's part of the fun, letting the thrill of pretending to be someone else overtake you. That's what Halloween is all about, right?

"Mmm, I love it when you say my name, baby." He smirks against your flesh, moving over to give your other breast equal attention. He's so hard inside his costume, unable to believe he's got you writhing helplessly underneath him. Part of him wants to take his time with you, slow and gentle. But the other part? Well, that second, darker part of him wants to fuck you senseless until you scream. He's battling with himself, wanting to be a gentleman for your sake. But he keeps the notion in the back of his mind that, if you ask, he'll gladly let his primal half take hold. "Let's get the rest of these clothes off, hm?" He gets up from the bed, going to the end to unzip your heeled boots. He slips them off your feet, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. He grabs your ankles, pulling you so your legs dangle off the edge once more.

The motion startles you, and you let out a small shriek of surprise. He falls forward, catching himself on his hands on either side of your head. His crotch grinds against yours, and your mouth falls open to release more cries of pleasure. "More." You almost whine at him, and he chuckles darkly. He crushes his lips onto yours, giving in to his animal instinct a little to test the waters. You respond well to it, digging your nails into his scalp. You expect him to slip you the tongue again, but he doesn't. Instead, his lips slowly travel through the valley between your breasts, all the way down to your navel. He teasingly dips his tongue into it, which you don't expect to find hot. But it surprisingly is, making you gasp.

His hands quickly unbutton your leather pants, sliding them down your long legs. His breath hitches when he sees you're not wearing any panties underneath. He's getting a perfect view of your pussy as he's removing the remaining item of clothing. You're so wet and shiny for him, he can't wait to dive right in. "God, you're perfect." He says in complete and total awe of you, breaking his stare to glance at you for a moment.

"Thank you." You smile awkwardly, your cheeks turning deep red. He's so complimentary, taking every chance to tell you just how beautiful you are to him. He bends down to take off his own boots, they've been killing his feet all night. Once they're discarded, he kneels before you. You take your cue to spread your legs, letting him grip your thighs to sling them over his shoulders. Most of the paint around his mouth has been wiped away onto your own skin, but you don't really care where it ends up at this point. You just want him, all of him. You're panting in anticipation, waiting for him to start eating you out. His warm breath fans over your clit, the sensation is dialed up to eleven from the weed. He licks an apprehensive stripe from your hole to your sensitive bud. "Fuck." You groan, letting your eyes roll to the back of your head, balling the blankets with your fists.

"Mmm." He hums against you, sending a thrum of vibration through your cunt. You gasp, arching your back off the bed. His hand lays on your stomach to hold you down, and he's licking you back and forth at a healthy pace. His mouth feels so good on your most sensitive parts, the perfect amount of pressure and speed to build up your orgasm. His tongue slips into your cunt, something you've never had anyone do to you before. This man is just chock-full of surprises, and you love every second of it.

"Fuck, your mouth is amazing." Your head pushes into the mattress, hair splayed about like loose threads. You're getting closer and closer to the finish line, and he hums at your praise to push you further. You taste so good on his tongue, sweet and musky. He'd go like this for hours, if he wasn't nearly bursting with the need to sink his cock deep inside you. He increases his speed, wanting to make you cum. He wants to see how pretty you look when you lose control. "Just like that, baby. Oh, God. Don't stop." You whimper, your skin slicking over in a thin sheen of sweat. He scans over your body as he continues working you up, admiring how fucked-out you are for him. Damp hair clinging to your face, eyes screwed shut as your mouth sits agape to let out to dirtiest noises he's ever heard. Your knuckles bright white from strangling the covers, chest heaving up and down as you await your bliss. He wishes he had a camera, this has gotta be one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

The waves you know so well are crashing into you, washing through your body in the most delicious way. "You gonna cum for me, Joan?" He asks, taking only a second to speak before returning to his task.

"Uh-huh. Keep going, I'm so fuckin' close." He obeys the command, picking up the speed just a tiny bit more to send you flying off the edge. "Oh, my god. Oh, fuck!" You cry out, insides clenching around nothing as your high overtakes you. Your legs tremble, threatening to clamp onto his head. He laps up your juices, his continued contact on you makes your cunt spark. Exploding stars have blinded you, twinkling in your vision while you ride this out.

He pulls away, letting you come back down to earth. His hands stroke your thighs gently to ground you, you find that his touch is so comforting. "You taste so good, sweetheart." You can't get enough of the cute little names he calls you, angel, sweetheart. They're so simple, but quite endearing.

When your breathing mostly returns to normal and your sweat has turned cold, you sit up to look at him. He's still on his knees, with your legs resting on his shoulders. He's smiling up at you, and you mirror it. "You're very good at that, Ace." You compliment him, moving your legs so your feet can touch the floor. You cup his beautiful face with your hands, leaning forward to give him a tender kiss. The position is a bit uncomfortable, so you slide off the bed to straddle him on the floor. He grunts as his back hits the hardwood, hands gripping your hips roughly. You can feel his dick pressing against your dripping pussy, grinding yourself against him out of instinct. He groans into the kiss, squeezing your flesh with his hands. He might leave bruises, but you can't be bothered to care at the moment. "Is there a zipper on this thing somewhere? I gotta get you out of this suit." You say frantically, biting his neck harshly.

"Fuck. Yeah, it's in the back." He's boiling in the damn thing, anxious to take it off. You suck his flesh into a dark purple bruise, releasing it once you're satisfied with how it looks. You ease off, letting him sit up so you can unzip his costume. You return to his lap, reaching behind to pull the zipper down his back. You slowly reveal his bare skin, pressing wet kisses on every inch as you uncover it. The top of the suit bunches at his waist, and you're feeling up his beautiful chest and admiring his tattoos.

"Nice tats, baby. They're very sexy." You trace them with your tongue, nipping his skin playfully between your teeth.

"Thanks, I notice you don't have any though. Such a shame, I think they'd suit you well." His fingers stroke your sides seductively, the lightest of touches making you shiver.

"I've always wanted some, but I don't make much money. They cost quite a bit, and I have other needs to fulfill." You reach between his legs, groping his erection again. He groans at your touch, eyes burning into yours with lust. You keep his gaze, sliding your hand up to go inside his suit to feel him fully. You gasp as you realize he's also been going commando, gripping his length greedily. "Speaking of needs, you want me to suck your dick, hot stuff?" Your tongue plays at the edge of your mouth, tempting him to let you have your way.

"If you want to." He replies with a shrug.

"Gee, that's real enthusiastic, Ace." You say sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

"Sorry, you're so forward, it throws me off." Your face falls slightly, worried you've spooked him. "No, no. I like it, trust me. It's very hot. I'm just not used to it, I guess." He rubs his neck awkwardly, not meaning to put a damper on things. Your hand is still in his pants, and you start stroking him again.

"I see. Are you trying to hold back with me? You've been pretty anxious this whole time." You bring your face dangerously close to his, watching as he lets out filthy noises while you slowly jerk him off.

"Maybe. I don't wanna be too rough with you. I like you, a lot." His voice stutters, loving every touch you give him.

"Let me assure you, I can take it." You poke your tongue out to lick his lips. "So, stop being such a gentleman, and tell me what you want." You take his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling on it to give him as clear a message as you can. He clears his throat, taking a moment to compose himself despite your hand deliciously working him up.

"I want you to blow me, sweetheart. I bet that pretty mouth of yours is really good at it." He smirks, letting that other side of him take the wheel.

You chuckle lowly, excited that he's finally letting his inhibitions fall to the wayside. All it took was a little push. "That's what I like to hear, baby. How 'bout you take that suit all the way off, and I'll get into position?" You give him a brief kiss, letting his dick fall from your grasp. He whines at the loss, but happily listens to your instructions. You get back onto the bed, laying on your back with your head hanging upside-down off the edge. You watch him fully undress, eyes widening when he reveals his cock to you.

"See something you like, angel?" He asks, looking up to see you in your odd position. "Jesus christ. You're a kinky little thing, aren't you?" He's never seen a woman so willingly lay herself to have her face used like a fucktoy, you really are something special.

"It took you until now to figure that out? Damn, I guess I don't dance as well as I thought." You tease, beckoning him over with your finger. He happily walks over to you, giving his length a couple needy strokes before positioning himself to enter your mouth.

"You ready, baby?" He asks, waiting for you to open those pretty lips of yours. You allow him access, licking the precum from his head before he shoves himself down your throat. "Fuck." He groans, gagging you as he hits deep within your hole. You swirl your tongue around his length, stimulating him while he gets used to how hot and wet you feel around him. He holds the back of your head with his hand, the other laying on the bed. He gradually pulls out, before sliding back in. "God, you feel amazing." He sighs, unable to believe he's actually fucking your face like this. He starts thrusting rapidly, gagging you repeatedly just the way you like. You love giving head, it gets you so hot and bothered to hear every sexy little noise your mouth and throat can draw from a man's lips. You drag your hand down the front of your body, slipping between your legs to circle your clit. You hum against him at the sensation, still so wet from him going down on you. He takes notice of what you're doing, and it only makes him closer to cumming. "You like it when I fuck your pretty face, Joan? Such a dirty girl, touching yourself like that."

You just moan around him, drinking in his filthy words. Tears sting your eyes as he keeps thrusting into you with great force, an endless stream of curses and uses of your 'name' flowing from his mouth. This whole thing is so fucking hot, you can't resist slipping two fingers into your pussy. "Mmm." You groan around his cock, the vibrations driving him mad. He thrusts harder, faster as he watches you finger yourself. Your free hand massages his balls, gradually feeling them tighten in your grasp. He's very close, you can tell by his thrusts losing coordination. You could get yourself off at the same time, if you just move your fingers a little faster. But you can wait, right now it's about pleasing him. You pull your hand away, tightening your grip on him just a teensy bit to up the stakes.

"Fuck, Joan. Careful with those, I only get two of ‘em." He jokes, though he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel pretty good. You know every possible move to make him go wild, like a goddamn mind reader. He's nearing the end, slamming his cock down your throat as his orgasm creeps up on him. "I'm gonna cum, baby. Be a good girl and swallow." You hum in agreement, eager to have his load shoot into you. He moans loudly as his release rolls over him, his hips bucking erratically against you. His cum runs down your throat with ease, and he stays in your mouth up to the hilt for a moment while he calms down. His hands rest on either side of you, and his breath comes out hot and heavy. It's getting a little uncomfortable to keep him sheathed so deep in you, so you tap his hand with yours to get his attention. "Oh, sorry." He chuckles, slowly pulling out with a groan.

You gasp in air, it’s difficult to have to keep breathing through your nose. Damn fall allergies. "It's alright, Ace. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." You roll over to look at him right-side up, wiping the tears from your eyes. "Come here, we can take a little break until you're ready to go again." You sit up, reaching your arms out to take his hands in yours. He lets you lay him down on the bed, and you cozy up next to him. His arm wraps around you, and you lay sideways to see his handsome face. You're still feeling the weed and alcohol coursing through your system, you find yourself craving this man's touch. You want him inside you, but you want more than anything to know his name. "I think we can stop playing games now. What's your real name, handsome?" You ask quietly, running your fingers up and down his bare chest.

"You first, sweetheart. You started it, so you end it." His eyes bore into yours, a large smirk on his lips. He's daring you, challenging you to smash the illusion away.

"Fair enough, dick." You chuckle, and he laughs as well. "My name...is Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"That's a pretty name, such a shame you wanted to keep it from me." His expression changes, and you wonder if he's figured out whether or not he recognizes you from somewhere. "I'm Eddie, pleased to make your acquaintance." He takes your hand in his, kissing the back of it.

Your eyes widen, you've finally put the final piece of the puzzle into place. Dealing drugs, the tattoos? You've been hooking up with none other than Eddie Munson, resident freak. "Munson?"

"The one and only. Does that change anything?" He's worried you'll kick him to the curb now that you've figured him out, nobody likes to hang around a freak like him. But you seem different, and he hopes he's not wrong.

"No, not at all. I'm just...surprised, I guess? I mean, you just seem like the kinda guy that wouldn't waste his time on a girl like me." You avert your gaze, suddenly not so confident anymore. You've always really liked Eddie, admired him from afar. His cafeteria tantrums always made you laugh, and he'd catch your stare every now and again. He'd always wink and smile at you, which made you absolutely weak in the knees. But you guess you aren't important enough for him to remember.

"Hey, don't say that. I was the one checking you out, remember? Sure, I never would've walked over, but that's only because you can have any guy you want. The town freak is nobody's first choice, Y/N."

"You are to me. I had a major crush on you back in high school. You didn't care what anyone thought or said about you. Your style is bitchin', and you have perfect music taste like no other. I always wanted to talk to you, but I was too scared. I thought you'd laugh at me." You blush at the thought, recalling every chance you had to speak to him. In class, in the hall, at lunch, even when he smoked outside his van in the parking lot after school. So many opportunities, and you never took any of them.

"No way! A crush…on me? I think I would've been able to tell if someone as beautiful as you was interested in me." He thinks back for a moment, trying to remember anyone that would've given him an indication they liked him. He gasps once he puts it together, you were the one that always looked his way in the cafeteria. He could feel your gorgeous eyes burning into him hopelessly, and he'd return your gaze with a wink and a smile. He remembers how flustered you'd get, quickly looking away and blushing like crazy. "Oh my god! You're the one who always stared at me! I think I called you 'sexy stalker' in my head." You both laugh at that, you can't help finding the nickname endearing. "I was always waiting for the day you'd eventually get the courage to come talk to me. You seemed too shy to respond well to me going to you. I didn't want to scare you away."

You scoff, unable to believe that you two could've been together this whole time. "Well, clearly we ended up finding our way to each other. I hate that it took so long, though. If I would've known you liked me back, I would've run right over to that goddamn table and tackled you or something." You giggle, finding this whole thing so ridiculous.

"And you have no idea how many times I wished you would. I used to try and telepathically tell you to come to me, but I guess you never heard it." He chuckles, unable to stop staring at your paint-streaked face. He strokes your cheek oh so gently, the energy in the room is different now. It was heavy, laced with pure lust before. But it's morphed into something deeper. Intense want, need, even. You've both denied yourselves of something that is clearly meant to be, and now is the time to right that mistake. "I really like you, Y/N. Even more so now that I know who you are." He speaks so seriously, trying to let you know he's feeling something deep and meaningful.

"I really like you too, Eddie. It's crazy, to think you're finally right where I've always wanted you to be." You gaze into his eyes, realizing you should've recognized them so much sooner. Costumes and makeup are a hell of a thing, aren't they?

"Where's that, in bed?" Eddie can't resist cracking jokes, the tension between you now is palpable.

"With me. In any way I can have you." You press your lips onto his passionately, essentially confessing that you're in love with him. Well, in like, you suppose. But does that distinction really make much difference? You clearly have potent feelings for each other, and whether it's love, or lust or like, it doesn't matter much to you at the moment. You just want him, you've always wanted him more than anything in the world. Your mouths move in sync, meeting and turning and tonguing perfectly against one another.

"Come here." Eddie says, breaking away just for a moment to pull your body onto his. His cock rests behind your ass, already becoming hard again. He captures your lips with his again, not wanting to stop kissing you. His hands hold your waist, leading you to rub your slick folds against his length. You both moan at the sensation, teasingly ramping things up. You assist in keeping his rhythm, whimpering down his throat when your clit makes contact with him.

"I want you, Eddie." You pull away, leaning down to attack his chest. You're so hungry for him, it's almost unbearable.

"I want you too, Y/N. You have no idea." He watches you move on him, savoring every lick and bite you give his needy flesh.

"Tell me what you wanna do to me." Your peer up at him, a devilish look on your face. You'll let him do whatever he wants, but you want to hear him say it.

"I want to fuck you, sweetheart. Hard and fast. Slow and gentle. Any way you'll let me." His breath stutters as he speaks, and he doesn't stop there. "I want to have you, call you mine. And I want you to call me yours." You're surprised at him, so willingly admitting how he wants to continue seeing you after tonight.

"Your wish is my command, baby. Can you sit up against the headboard for me?" You politely direct him, slipping off his body so he can get in position. He does as you ask, no hesitation to be seen. You love how easily he obeys you, it's typically hard for guys to relinquish even a tiny bit of control. But Eddie gives it away enthusiastically, and it's so fucking hot. "Good boy." You tease, smirking when his cheeks flare red. You tilt your head, fascinated by his reaction. "You like it when I call you that?"

He swallows hard, almost embarrassed. "Yes." He says barely above a whisper, shifting his eyes away from yours. You straddle him again, taking his cock in your hand to regain his attention.

"No need to be so shy, baby. I like a man who's capable of letting go." Eddie looks at you again, softening when he sees your kind smile. You could never judge him for what he likes in bed, you just want to make him feel good. You lift yourself onto your knees, dragging the head of his dick against your dripping cunt. Your breath hitches, anxious to sink down onto him. "You ready, darling?" You ask, needing to be absolutely sure he wants this just as much as you do.

"Yes. Please stop teasing, I need you." He almost whines, hands going to your waist to help guide you. You bring him to your entrance, locking eyes as you slowly slide down until he's fully inside you. "Fuck." He groans, your walls hugging him perfectly.

"Oh, god." Your lungs evacuate themselves of all oxygen, his tip hitting your cervix as you take every last inch of him. You wrap your arms around his neck, still maintaining eye contact. You take a moment to adjust to his size, clenching your insides to push him just a tiny bit further.

"Jesus, Y/N." You're so warm and wet inside, it's mindblowing. He lets you take your time, stroking his hands on your thighs to relax you. You feel yourself loosen up, and you lift up at an agonizing rate, almost letting him fall out before coming back down hard.

"Fuck." You moan, this angle makes him hit your g spot just right. You begin to ride him, slipping up and down steadily. Eddie holds you close to him, planting hot kisses all over your tits as you move. "Oh, Eddie." You love everything he does to you, his mouth is like fucking magic.

"Mmm, I like it when you say my real name, princess." He nips your flesh with his teeth, making you whine. Your head falls forward, concealing your face with your hair. But Eddie wants to see every expression that crosses your face. "Don't hide, baby. I wanna see you enjoying yourself." His voice is gentle, but demanding. You put your head upright once more, letting him see the effect he's having on you. An endless stream of filthy noises and curses leave your supple lips, flowing directly into Eddie's ears. "Good girl. Tell me how it feels." He's taking a more active role now, and you're not complaining. Your mind is scrambling, every little sensation making it that much harder to form coherent thoughts.

"Your dick feels so good inside me, baby. You fill me up so well, it's like you were made for me." You bounce harder on him, your ass smacking against his thighs. A large knot begins to tie itself within your belly, twisting and tangling every time you land on him. You can't help craving something else from him though, he picks up on your change in expression.

"Is there something else you want, sweetheart? I'll give you anything you desire." His voice is low and husky, eyes blown out with unbridled lust. Eddie loves what you're currently doing, but he wants to let his inner beast out of its cage and absolutely ravage you.

"I want you to fuck me from behind, just go as hard as you can. I can tell you're holding back again, but I want you to wreck me. Let the animal out, claim me as yours. Please?" You can't believe you're begging him like this, far be it from you to beg a man for anything. But you can't fight what you want, for that will always be a losing battle.

"You got it, baby. Get on your hands and knees for me." He answers, patting your thigh for you to move. You nod, ceasing your bouncing to carefully slide off of his cock. You hold back a whine from the loss of contact, focusing on getting into position. You turn around, arching your back to display yourself to him. Eddie gets onto his knees, crawling up behind you. He lowers his head, taking you by surprise as he licks a long stripe from your clit to your hole.

"Fuck, Eddie." You moan out, gripping the edge of the mattress roughly in your hands. He shocks you again, shoving two fingers into your cunt. "Jesus christ." He's toying with you, drawing it out. Although, you can't say it's not working for you. He lays his chest over your back, speaking into your ear with a low growl.

"Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. Be a good little slut for me." That's the first time he's pulled that one out this evening, and it only makes you more turned on. Arousal drips from your pussy, running down his hand and wrist to his elbow.

"Please fuck me, Eddie. I need you, I want you so bad." You can't believe how pitiful you sound, almost pathetic. The tone in your voice makes his cock twitch, it takes everything in him to resist plunging into you at full force just yet. He pumps his digits into you, wanting to set you off one more time before taking what he wants. "Eddie, please. I'm not gonna last much longer." You feel the knot threatening to snap, winding up tighter and tighter as he fingers you mercilessly.

"Oh, I know, darling. I want you to be a good girl and cum for me first." He stops laying over you, sitting on his knees while placing his free hand on your back.

"God, you're such a tease." You joke, which earns you an unexpected smack on your ass. The pleasurable sting makes you gasp, which quickly morphs into a lewd moan. "Fuck, do that again." He does, this time on your other cheek. Any second now, you're going to lose it. He picks up the pace, going as hard as he can without hurting you. "Oh, baby. You're gonna make me cum. You feel so fucking good."

"Go on then, make a mess for me. Such a filthy little slut, begging me to spank you, and finger you, and fuck you. Such a needy little thing, desperate for anything I give you." His words are what it takes to sever the strings, the knot bursting into a million tiny pieces.

"Eddie!" You scream, overcome with pure ecstasy. Your legs shake violently, and your pussy clamps down on his fingers as juices spill out of you and onto the bed.

"That's it, you're such a good girl for me." He coos, slipping his fingers out of you before shoving his cock in right after.

"Oh my god!" You cry out, you're still in the aftershocks of your orgasm. But Eddie has no plans of letting up, immediately pounding himself into your pulsing cunt. The pleasure doesn't stop, it just rolls over to build up another hit.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me." He groans, feeling you quiver around him. He wants to wear you out, make you cum over and over while screaming his name. He holds your hips in a bruising grip, slamming himself against you viciously. Eddie's dick hits your sweet-spot again and again, and all you can do is moan while holding on for dear life.

It doesn't take long before your legs threaten to give out again, your third orgasm of the night rocking through your body. "FUCK!" You shout, your insides strangling Eddie's length. More juices spurt out of you, making him groan as they wash over him and spill down his thighs.

"Fuck, Y/N. Good girl, it feels so good when you soak my cock." You're getting him closer to the finish line, but he still doesn't stop. He goes even faster, just like you wanted. You've never had someone go so fast and so hard like this, snatching orgasms from you one after another. It's like nothing you've ever experienced before, you're still riding the wave while a brand new one begins building right underneath. You can't believe how hard and how much you keep cumming for him, but you have no intention of stopping until he's finished.

"Baby, can you choke me? I'd love to feel your big, strong hand around my neck." You hope that's not weird to ask for, you're not sure he'll be into it.

"Anything for you, my dirty little slut." Eddie reaches forward, easily wrapping his fingers around your throat. He applies light pressure, cutting off your oxygen just the slightest bit to test your limits. Your head feels light, and you give him a loud moan. "God, you're such a perfect little freak for me." You're eating up his praises, every single thing he says is music to your ears. He squeezes a little harder, still thrusting like a jackhammer to bring himself to his own end.

You can tell he's getting close, his pace begins to stutter as his high approaches. And the feeling of his hand around your neck while he fucks you senseless is putting you right there with him. "Fuck me harder, I wanna cum with you."

"You got it, angel. I'm almost there." He snaps his hips even harder, the contact of skin to skin stinging the two of you. You're both sweating profusely, making it difficult to maintain your position. Obscenely loud moans and slapping of flesh fill the room, drowning out the bumping bass downstairs. You're sure someone can hear you, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is getting this final, intense orgasm with the man of your dreams.

You feel the wave threatening to crash over you, you've never been so incredibly built up before. You're worried you might die, everything feels too fucking good. Eddie reaches between your legs, circling your clit to seal your fate. "Oh, god. Fuck! EDDIE!"  You scream so loud, it sounds like you're in pain. But that couldn't be further from the truth. An absolute flood of cum explodes from you, soaking yours and Eddie's legs and the bed beneath you. Tears spring from your eyes, you're becoming overstimulated. Your walls snap around him harder than ever before, milking his cock for all its worth.

"Y/N!" He cries out, you've really done a number on him. You're squeezing the life out of him, and his load mixes with the massive downpour of cum that soaks everything. He can't stop himself from bucking into you erratically as he rides out his own high, which just keeps the fluid pouring out of you. You're sobbing at this point, it's almost too much. Eddie slows down, regaining control once the pleasure subsides. You collapse on the bed, slipping off of his dick. You can barely move, or think. And all you see is stars. "You okay, Y/N?" He asks, noticing how much you resemble a starfish at the moment.

"Mmhmm." Is all you can say, as your limbs are now made of mush with no bones to be found. Satisfied with your answer, he falls backwards to catch his breath. Your hearts pound so loud, you can hear them in your ears.

Suddenly there's knocking in the door, and you notice the music has stopped. "Y/N? Are you in there? We heard screaming, and Robin said you came up here with some guy." It's Steve, sounding very concerned on the other side of the door. "We just wanna make sure you're okay."

You lift your head, speaking back to him. "Yeah it's me. I'm fine, just finished getting my brains fucked out by Eddie Munson, if you must know." You say cheekily, highly satisfied with yourself.

A roar of cheers erupts in the hallway, it appears the party moved upstairs to investigate what the ruckus you and Eddie made was all about. "Way to go, Y/N! Just please replace the sheets? My parents will kill me if there's a mess left in there."

"Will do, your highness!" You retort, laughing at the spectacle that's been made out of your sexual activities. You turn to look at Eddie as the audience makes their way back to resume the festivities, and he's smiling like a kid on Christmas. "You alive there, Munson?" You ask, matching his blissful expression.

"Well, I'd say it was a pretty close call. That has to be the best sex I've ever had, I thought I'd died and went to heaven or something. And I don't even go to church." He quips, sitting up with you.

"Me either, God's overrated. Now you, on the other hand? I'd worship you every day of the week." You move to sit sideways on his lap, letting him wrap his arms around you.

"Ooh, I like the sound of that. And I'll happily do the same for you." He leans in, giving you a tender kiss. You're both completely spent, happy to just sit like this. He pulls away, looking at you seriously. "So, what do we do now?" He asks, unsure what the next step is. And that's in terms of tonight, or otherwise. He wants to see you again, and again and again. But it all depends on you.

"Well, I was thinking a shower. There's a bathroom attached to this room, thankfully. And then after that...we can rejoin the party if you want, or stay here together and rest." His expression falls a little, thinking you don't want anything from him after tonight. You quickly take notice, reassuring him that's the opposite of what you mean. "And then, when the night is over, I give you my phone number so you can call me and take me on a date."

"Really?" He's smiling again, somehow surprised that you mean it.

"Yes, dingus!" You smack his chest playfully, rolling your eyes at his uncertainty. "I'm practically in love with you! I'm not gonna let you go so easily, especially not with your particular skill set." You chuckle, making him laugh as well. 

"Sorry, I don't mean to be so insecure. But I'll happily take you up on that shower, and your phone number. And just so you know, sweetheart, I am never letting you go either."

The end.

[archivewriter1ont]

Hunter: You really do not want to make me angry.

Bad Guy: Oh, really?

Crosshair: Really. Believe me, you don't.

Wrecker: Please just surrender or let one of us punch you before you meet somebody you don't want to.

Tech: Someone who usually leaves a trail of blood we do not have the time to clean up right now. Also, I am out of rabies shots.

Bad Guy: You...You'd have to give me a rabies shot?

Tech: Of course not. You'll be dead -- the rabies shot is for Hunter.

Wrecker: We thought he got it one time from biting a Weequay.

Bad Guy: What?!

Crosshair: Turns out, he was just foaming at the mouth because the Weequay tasted so bad.

Bad Guy:

Crosshair: So can you please just fall down or something? We can only hold him back for so long.

In the four episodes we got of the Batcher in TCW, we see Hunter growl and grunt at people (primarily Rex for some reason) as a kind of attempt at communication, he SNIFFS DIRT to track things, and he honestly kind of goes crazy with his knives in the fight scenes. I think this confirms or at least indicates that in his young gun, wild thing, commando TCW era Hunter was feral, or at least semi-feral.

What I'm saying is that I love feral Hunter. And if I must write the feral Hunter content I want, so be it -- but you cannot convince me this man did not go absolutely batcrap insane on a few bad guys early on in his deployment. I'm sure Cody had to preface a few conversations with "Hey, I know I recommended these guys but...just keep an eye on the shaggy one, y'know? No sudden movements or blinking red lights or...you know what, treat him like a pissed off Cane Corso while you're in combat. If you're on downtime, treat him like a not pissed Cane Corso, and make sure his handlers give permission before you try to be friends."

Rex doesn't get this memo because Cody thought it would be funny to let him figure it out on his own, which takes about five days and a few near-death experiences.

When Echo joins the Batch he figured it out in about two hours because someone said something mean about his prosthetics. The next thing he knew, Tech and Wrecker were appealing to Hunter's better nature and Crosshair was reminding the sergeant not to use his teeth as a murder weapon this time because "That's what knives are for."

[crimsoncowboyy]

John and Arthur’s Established Dynamics With Dutch And How This Impacts Redemption: An Analysis

What makes Dutch Van Der Linde such a compelling antagonist is his extreme narcissism, both covert and apparent. Red Dead Redemption 2 is particularly keen on showcasing this, as players get to experience Dutch’s charisma and mental decline through the eyes of Arthur Morgan, who loves Dutch dearly. On the contrary, Red Dead Redemption 1 displays John Marston grappling with the order to eradicate his former gang members, including Dutch. Through John’s perspective, players get to understand the complexities that come with having to confront a path that has both benefited and destroyed you. Yet, both protagonists serve the same purpose: the complex relationship one may have with a narcissistic “parent” figure. While both John and Arthur appear to have conflicting personalities with one another, they find a common understanding with one another through their sibling-like bond that has arisen from both being raised by Dutch.

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆

Arthur was only fourteen when he was taken in by Dutch. After a childhood filled with death, brutality, abuse, and homelessness, Dutch was able to swoop in, take Arthur off the streets, and give him a sense of security. This meant everything to Arthur, and with Dutch, Arthur was able to finally have a stable, present, and attentive father figure in his life. However, what Arthur consistently struggled to pick up on was Dutch’s true intentions, which were not as loving and fatherly as Dutch wanted them to seem. By recognizing Arthur’s underlying anger and need for validation, Dutch was able to condition Arthur into being the perfect bodyguard: violent, strong, and eager to do the job right.

Arthur is heavily reliant on Dutch to the point that he sacrifices self-autonomy for Dutch’s sake. The storyline with Mary Linton is a prime example of this. In actuality, Arthur could have chosen to protect himself and run away with his former lover, but Arthur’s entire life has been centered around Dutch’s gang. When Mary says that there is a good man inside of him wrestling with a “giant,” there is a reason why she does not claim that this “giant” is evil or inherently bad; it is only larger than Arthur is. This internal struggle centered around remaining loyal to himself or to the people he calls his family is central to Arthur’s redemption arc, especially through the use of the honor system. Both low and high honor result from a series of cations that allow Arthur to redeem himself, but high honor means that Arthur’s time concludes with the acceptance that he was able to fight for what felt true to himself, while low honor is Arthur getting killed fighting against the very thing that caused the gang’s destruction.

Either way, Arthur redeems himself by fully embracing the notion that Dutch is a flawed and selfish individual who has proven his own safety to appear more vital than protecting the gang as a whole. Yet, it takes the duration of Red Dead Redemption 2 for this truth to be fully embraced by Arthur, who continues to base his actions and existence around pleasing Dutch. Getting called “son” or “my boy” by the man Arthur has been conditioned to rely on is what pushes Arthur to continuously combat his own moral code. Additionally, Arthur cannot fathom the idea of being disappointing to Dutch in any sort of way, even if it causes him to abandon his own sense of right or wrong. By beating up Thomas Downes despite feeling wrong about it, Arthur contracts tuberculosis and is forced to run on dwindling time as a result of his vile actions. Yet, this extreme realization that self-betrayal is equally as harmful as rejecting the expectations of somebody you love is what ultimately catalyzes Arthur’s journey of change.

Arthur’s conflict with John also tells a lot about Arthur's life and for other people. When John turns his back on both Abigail and the gang as a whole, Arthur struggles to find the reason for this. Rather than recognizing the deep-rooted fear and self-doubt that John has been facing, especially when it comes to continuing to live for the gang, Arthur berates John because John is doing something Arthur himself has done and regretted: making the wrong choice when it comes to standing by a loved one. While Arthur chose to “love” the gang more than Mary and then had to endure the consequences for such a choice, John, who is both terrified of disappointing Abigail and conflicted about his changing perspective on the gang, is choosing to avoid both entirely and run away for an entire year. Upon John’s return, Arthur is furious that the gang, especially Dutch, is willing to welcome John back with open arms. This makes Arthur resent John for the choices John has made, but at the same time, have a deep-rooted jealousy over the fact that Dutch treated John well for being disloyal, while the expectation from Arthur is that he will never act in such a way, and thus, Arthur feels John is receiving blind loyalty from Dutch. However, Arthur is misunderstanding a much more complicated relationship dynamic.

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆

Like Arthur, John also has an underlying incapability of living apart from the gang. Despite his issues with Dutch, John will always have a complicated sense of reliance on Dutch whilst resenting the life John believes was given to him. However, while Arthur falls into the role of being Dutch’s “golden child,” being Dutch’s trusted right-hand man and gang enforcer, John gets a much more complicated role. John is Dutch’s scapegoat child who is heavily criticized and berated no matter how hard he may try to prove himself worthy; however, if John tries to reject Dutch following this treatment, Dutch knows how to masterfully reel John back in. For example, even though Dutch welcomed John back into the gang, it is something that gets used against John in his weaker moments for his guilt to corrupt him into obeying Dutch. Additionally, Dutch making John say “yes, Dutch” out loud is a way to force John into a position of submission and lower status in the instances where he dares to challenge Dutch. John tends to be much more direct when it comes to critiquing Dutch as opposed to Arthur’s display, which comes across as concerned rather than combative. Thus, John and Dutch kind of have this established dynamic where John acts as a defiant child whom Dutch must remind to be loyal and obedient, consistently forcing John to align with an outlaw lifestyle that he is contemplating the morality of.

John is more independent than Arthur in the sense that he is deciding who he wishes to be dependent on. Throughout both stories, it is evident that John resents authority figures, and this is where his childishness shines through. While Arthur will respect authority if Dutch tells him to or if Arthur feels that person is worthy of respect, while John is much more weary and combative from the start. This is simply part of his nature, and Dutch understands and fuels this so that John can serve him. However, Abigail offers a stark comparison to Dutch. While Dutch ultimately demands blind obedience, Abigail demands change in John because she wants John to be less afraid of himself. Abigail understands John’s internal struggle with power, loyalty, and abuse cycles, and she directly combats it. She is somebody who challenges John to do better, which is something he has lacked his entire life. In a world where he is expected to serve for the sake of others, Abigail pushes him to serve himself, which will ultimately allow John to serve her, too.

It could be argued that John’s sense of “redemption” is vastly different from Arthur’s. The very fact that John ran away for a year following Jack’s birth is very telling of the internal conflict eating him alive; John knows he cannot exist on his own, and he must now decide who to be loyal to. While in his heart, he wants to dedicate his life to Abigail and Jack, John does not know how to live a life independently from the world he was brought up in. John wants to be a good dad but never had a good father himself, and John wants to leave the gang, but this would isolate him from both Abigail and the only community he knows. This endless feeling of servitude is something John understands he cannot escape. In Red Dead Redemption 1, this sense of being used by others is crushing John, especially because the United States government has kidnapped John’s family and will only release them if John vows to kill former members of the now-disbanded gang. John wants to protect his family more than anything, but he still struggles with obliterating people from his past who once meant everything to him. As a result, John’s avoidance is displayed through his acceptance of impending death. Throughout both games, John acts in reckless, death-seeking manners, putting himself in high-risk situations where death is a possible reality, such as straight up walking to Bill Williamson, essentially setting himself up to be shot. Yet, to John, being rescued from death serves him as a sign that his purpose on this Earth has not yet been completed, and there is more work to be done for those he loves before death can finally greet him. Ultimately, this shapes John’s redemption arc; John has to keep pushing forward so that he does not die at the hands of the gang and, instead, can conclude his life protecting the people at the core of his heart, which is why his death at the hands of the government following John’s completion of taking down his former gang members is both tragic and beautiful.

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆

One other major element of Dutch’s manipulation is how he treats John and Arthur like they are too dumb to understand nuanced topics. Yet, this is far from the truth. While John and Arthur are not the most well-read or academically savvy, the two display a deep level of thoughtfulness and insight about the world around them. John is hyper-aware of both himself and the world around him, and he is even one of the first people who recognized something deeply troubling about Dutch’s increasingly erratic behavior. This allows John to read people and situations based on intention rather than bias or false judgment. Even in Mexico, when John is being manipulated by multiple people, he understands that the people he is involving himself with are untrustworthy, but since he has no other options, he must wearily follow through with the situations he gets put into. While John often appears highly pessimistic, this is just a portrayal of his awareness of the harsh realities of the world he exists in, and there are just menial means for him to express this. Even if he did, Dutch would likely berate him until John regretted speaking up in the first place. On the contrary, Arthur appears to be more sheltered than John is, likely because Arthur grew up knowing fewer people and crimes. Yet, Arthur has a much more artistic soul than he lets others see, taking a lot of time to analyze and sketch what he encounters in this world that he finds interesting. His journal displays introspective writing that highlights the faults of both himself and the world around him that he prefers to pretend do not exist, and Arthur gets along very well with people who are atypical thinkers or live alternative, authentic lifestyles. Yet, because neither John nor Arthur read philosophy or desire “high-society,” Dutch demeans the two into believing they are unintelligent and incapable of complexity. Thus, if either one questions what Dutch is doing, he knows that he has the power to make John and Arthur believe that they are too stupid to do so. Yet, John is much more combative to this perspective than Arthur is, and John frequently makes comments to Dutch that question his decisions. In these moments, Dutch feels the most challenged and resorts to harsh insults that directly call out a personal struggle either John or Arthur have, reestablishing that they must remain loyal to Dutch because otherwise they are “worthless.”

Red Dead Redemption is beautiful in many ways. The intricate world design, multitude of storylines, and raw portrayal of complex realities make for a story that is compelling, relatable, and thought-provoking. Yet, one aspect that I think sets the Red Dead Redemption franchise apart from other stories is its hopeful and honest representation of the struggle to find a meaningful conclusion for a life filled with violence, abuse, and uncertainty. Neither John nor Arthur displays a sense of dreading their mortality. Instead, death in Red Dead Redemption serves as a reminder that the future is never promised, so it is important to make the most of the present because what is happening now is the only inherent truth of life. For a multitude of years, Dutch prevented the acceptance of such a reality for John and Arthur, and Dutch sold the false truth that he is the only truth in either man’s life, and as their “God” and “father,” both must worship him above all else. Yet, as fate closes in more and more on both John and Arthur, the realization that Dutch is dangerous not only gets embraced, but it allows for the opportunity to spend the time both have left doing what feels right rather than remaining with what is familiar. While the past can never be altered and the reality of death cannot be evaded, there is a sense of power in the realization that life cannot be foreseen or controlled, and thus, one must live each day remaining loyal to oneself. You are the only thing guaranteed to be both born and ended with you, so why betray the very being that allows you to exist at all?

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆ .°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆

[sideblogofawriter]

This is barely related but it was always weird to me that Myth school with their "imagination" and Storm with their "creativity" (both the main trait listed by the official site for the schools) were supposed to be opposites narratively. Like, surely they're pretty much the same? There's a lot of overlap potential here

Then I realized Myths are the daydreamers and Storms are the realists out there actually making shit and it made Myth so much more relatable rofl

Favorite to least favorite schools?

OOOOOO A QUESTION so okay this is an interesting one for me because not only are my faves tied for first place BUT I have such a limited knowledge on the schools I don't play as often so the list is gonna be super wonky HSLABDIRKE BUT HERE, LET'S PUT IT INTO WORDS:

Most favorite school(s): Storm/Death

So we all know I love Storm and it's for No Reason. Like I can't even say it's because of the game mechanics or whatever I just love Storm and there's no reason why. Even as a kid I immediately knew that I wanted to be the Purple Lightning Bolt School before I even took the book of secrets test. Like I swear I kin Storm but like. Kin-lite if that makes sense. Like I'm NOT Storm itself but IDKKKK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT I love everything about Storm; the aesthetics and the color scheme and the lore behind it, it all just SPEAKS TO ME so yeah I never grew up. Sjsldjdi

But like narratively? Lore-wise Death has to be my favorite because not only is there so much that goes into the Magic itself but like so many important and well-lived characters are Necromancers. And in my PERSONAL opinion some of the most compelling tales come from Necromancers alone because OF WHAT THEY GO THROUGH SPECIFICALLY BECAUSE THEY ARE NECROMANCERS. Like yeah I relate to that shit and honestly? The game says that the three Primordial forces are the most powerful magic but I feel like Death (along with Life and Balance of the main schools) is one of, if not the most powerful. Also because dead stuff and goth girls are my two most favorite things in the world so

Next Favorite School: Myth

Actually if I, myself, was the young wizard instead of my homunculus puppet I think I prooobably would be Myth. Like I think that's just literally who I am and even though I don't think my aesthetic lines up with Trolls and Cyclopes that much I just literally feel in my heart I'm just so...... (gestures towards myself) that I'm quite fit to be a Myth wizard. Lore reasons only. Like the "imaginative" Wizards is so mecore. I like Myth a lot but it's definitely below Storm and Death

The school after that: Balance

This time it's a mix between aesthetic and lore a lil bit. I like the fact that Balance doesn't even really seem to be a unique Magic that it's its own thing but rather a bit of each and every existing school (including the Astrals and Shadow) that it just became something entirely new and on its own???? Like it's familiar in the sense that you can see it in other Magic schools but there's still something in the core of Balance that makes it Balance. If that.... even begins to make any sense (I'm sorry my vocabulary is fucking shit. I know no words to describe things well). Also this is just my personal headcanon that Balance is one of the hardest Magic schools to master because it's so complicated. Like Balance in the Spiral is like Physics or Chemistry in our world

So this is where I start to fall out of groove with the other magic schools because I don't know shit about them so I'm gonna have to just rank them off vibes alone at this point:

The next favorite school: Fire

I was a fire wizard like years and years and years ago before I listened to my autism and went with Storm and honestly Fire fucks!!!! It's a cool school and idk how popular it is in terms of game mechanics (I think Ice and Life and Balance is most popular I think? idk I don't play the game) but I've always thought Fire was just super pretty to look at during battle. The color scheme may be a bit basic (red and orange for fire mhm) but it still works and honestly???? Personal headcanons that Fire wizards are actually one of the most mellow-headed wizards out of all the schools (commonly mistaken with Ice wizards; remember kids "Calm" doesn't equal "Aloofness") and that Pyromancers are typically daycare teachers or people who are normally in charge of/care for the youth

Some of y'all are gonna hate me for this but I can't really put Life or Ice above or below each other because I just don't really think about either of them that much HALSEHRKSH: LISTEN I DONT HATE EITHER OF THESE SCHOOLS, they just don't really....... stand out to me that much and my life and ice wizards aren't that far enough along yet where I can spot a significant difference between those schools and the ones I actually do play. Aesthetically wise yeah they're pretty!!! And then that's it DUDJSJSO I APOLOGIZE TO MY LIFE AND ICE MUTUALS/FOLLOWERS

(I assume anon meant like, the schools you start out with and not the schools you learn about later so I left out Shadow and the Astrals but if I had to put them somewhere on this list Shadow would definitely be right under Storm and Death, Moon would be below that, Star would be after Fire and Sun would be just kinda hanging out on the outside somewhere)

THANK YOU FOR THE QUESTION ANON I HOPE MY ANSWERS WEREN'T A COMPLETE DISAPPOINTMENT 💖💖💖

[lesbianandstressing]

Modern AU Arcane headcanons

So I finally watched Arcane, and safe to say I’m obsessed! Here are some headcanons I have of the characters existed in the same world as us, where (mostly) everyone is happy and alive :)

vi and powder are always forcing everyone to do stupid tiktok challenges and dances. vander and silco are very reluctant to participate but they somehow manage to go viral every single time

isha is powder and ekko’s adoptive child, and everyone absolutely loves her. she’s mute so everyone learned asl so she can easily communicate with them

vi and jayce play gta online together, and they either team up or constantly fuck with each other and cause chaos

caitlyn’s accent is frequently made fun of by everyone, especially powder

powder and caitlyn pretend to hate each other but are always there for one another when it really matters

sevika and isha are always teaming up to prank everyone. powder has woken up completely duct taped to her bed with sevika filming her and ekko dying with laughter

vi is in the running for the most ticklish person on earth, and everyone, and i mean everyone absolutely loves to tickle her because it’s such an easy way to mess with her. it’s a rarity for vi to go a day without being tickled by somebody at least once

vi and caitlyn’s place is the hang out spot for everyone. game nights, movie nights, and just general get togethers are always held at their place

the group plays cards against humanity (after isha goes to bed of course), and vi and powder are always putting down the most ridiculous cards that never make sense, but they always make everyone cackle

powder laughs so hard when she’s the judge that she can barely get through the cards, it takes her at least 20 minutes

mario kart tournaments always see the most competitiveness out of everyone. mel is somehow the reigning champion despite knowing very little about video games. powder and vi always sabotage each other and often get in physical play fights during mario kart

isha loves legos and has an entire collection that is taking over the house. ekko and powder are very supportive of this but they don’t know what to do about isha running out of space 😭

everyone always competes for title of isha’s favorite aunt/uncle. current title holders are sevika and jayce, but it changes very frequently

vander and silco are isha’s honorary grandfathers

isha has both of then wrapped around her finger

viktor owns a minecraft server that everyone plays on, and he’s like the dad who has to stop everyone from griefing each other

powder’s nickname is still jinx-but for a different reason. vi and powder would always play jinx related games where they would try to not say the same word, and powder always won. so jinx is vi’s affectionate nickname for powder that everyone else occasionally calls her

vander and silco own a gym where they specialize in hand to hand combat-vi works there with them and specifically works with kids, teaching them basic self defense techniques and going from there. vi never really pegged herself as kid material but she’s surprisingly really good with them, and sevika also works there with the adult classes

because of this, vi and sevika also teach isha self defense techniques in case any kids at school mess with her

powder and ekko work at an engineering company together

caitlyn is a lawyer, one of the top lawyers in the country due to her experience and schooling

jayce and viktor are scientific researchers and they are always making miraculous breakthroughs

powder and ekko worked together to design sevika’s prosthetic arm, and it’s very realistic and well functioning. after this, they started making prosthetics for people at a lower cost for those who don’t have the finances to afford them-but they still work just as well

vi and powder don’t let their romantic relationships strain their relationship as sisters. they always have sister nights with just the two of them at least once a week if not more

vi has adhd but manages well with medication and therapy

isha is obsessed with the teenage mutant ninja turtles. like, absolutely obsessed

caitlyn isn’t much of a gamer but she loves animal crosssing

ekko is an excellent cook, powder can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong

jayce loves to play legos with isha

sevika kicks everyone’s ass when playing wii sports

vi and jayce function well when apart, but when they are in the same room they share one brain cell

it’s even worse when they’ve had a few drinks

powder, viktor, and caitlyn have many videos of them being total fucking idiots

sevika believes in ghosts and tries to summon them often

i’m ignoring canon for the rest of my life!

A/N: Hope everyone enjoys these! This is my first time dabbling in the arcane fandom, so lmk what you think :)

[crudely-drawn-ben]

Introducing Trilogy

Yesterday I released Trilogy, a new tabletop RPG crafted to support you in having grand adventures in worlds of your own making.

There are several reasons I started writing Trilogy, but the biggest one is that I ran a Dungeon World podcast called Crudely Drawn Swords for seven years and that was a lot of time to think about what we were playing. To a degree Trilogy is the game I wish that we could have had to run the podcast.

Starting from the question "what would a purely PbtA game for epic fantasy look like?" I started thinking more widely - what do I want from a fantasy game? And the truth is that I want a game that supports the structure of characters and their interactions but doesn't tie itself to a specific setting.

Trilogy begins with The Appendices - conventionally in epic fantasy these are at the end and document information about the wider world that might not have made it into the story, but here it is where you sit down as a group and decide what tone you want your game to have, and your world looks like. What kind of place is it? What magic is there? What is religion like? What are the major cultures where the story begins? How would it feel to be in this world? Trilogy doesn't tell you any of these things, it gives you the tools to think through how you want your world to look.

This creates a secondary challenge - without knowing what the world looks like, how could I design character classes for this type of game? Trilogy answers this by going back to the fundamentals - instead of a conventional character class, the playbooks in Trilogy represent a narrative arc. Some of them, like The Fighter, The Priest, or The Magus, look like familiar classes. Others, such as The Volunteer, The Mentor, The Weapon, or The Defeated, are a little different. Character arcs have a set of turning points, story beats that allow you to advance along your arc after you have collected a certain amount of experience. Some are positive and others negative, you choose which ones you want to hit and when, but every character's story has its highs and lows and to get the most from the game you need to lean into both. A character can pass through three arcs as they grow and change, like the three volumes of a trilogy.

The aim of the game is to create a slower but satisfying sense of progression - instead of hit points characters take Stress and Harm like in other Powered by the Apocalypse games that can have both mechanical and narrative effects. That makes combat feel dangerous, but the game also offers more ways to solve problems without getting into combat - I have played games where the player characters never got into a fight, instead resolving confrontations through an ingenious selection of alternative strategies including "lying" and "vomiting magic ink all over the floor." I'm genuinely enthusiastic about this game - I think I would be as excited about it if somebody else had written it. It leans hard into the joy of discovery and the excitement of adventure - you can play it as spooky and whimsical or gritty and hard-edged and anywhere in between.

Because I was writing it I even got to make most of the examples of play roll out as the story of someone's game, something I always appreciate when I read it. It also contains every technique I use as a GM in the hope that even before people get the chance to play it (heaven forbid any TTRPG afficionado have books we haven't got around to playing yet!) people who read it will still be able to use that advice in their other games. So that's Trilogy, the game I've been working on for the last few years. I think it's pretty great and I hope you will too:

Obviously it's a full-priced game and that's a big gamble from an unfamiliar creator - if you want an idea of what it's like in practice we've got the CDS team back together and we're starting a streamed campaign so you have a chance to see it in action. You can find that over on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxpXacko9Nc

The first episode includes me notably failing to use OBS at both the beginning and end, and I can't make any promises things will improve in that regard, but it should be a good opportunity to see how the game shapes up from this start and with this crew I know it's going to be funny and take some wild swings. If you're interested in reviewing Trilogy or you really want to give it a try but you can't afford it, drop me a message

[thebiggerbear]

Close Enough

Summary: When you'd met the Shaws at the morgue the day before, you thought that had been the end of it and you wouldn't need to see one Shaw brother in particular again. Little did you know that Colter was about to once again ask for your help and not only would you be forced to see Russell again but things were about to change drastically for the both of you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader; Russell Shaw x Female!FBI Special Agent!Reader

A/N: Sequel to So Close. I wanted to follow up and reveal what happened between Russell and the reader in the past but as I was writing it, this idea popped into my head in addition to that and I just had to see where it went. This was the end result lol. Hope it's okay.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. I still have not seen Tracker (besides 1x12) because I just haven't had the time for a proper binge yet so if I got some things wrong about Colter and his experience in the show, I apologize.

A little disclaimer: I have never worked in law enforcement so I tried to piece together things I’ve seen and heard in true crime documentaries and podcasts alongside with movies/tv and books. I apologize for any inconsistencies, incorrect information, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. Basically, I made shit up.

Songs I listened to while writing: Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye; Easy Loving by Loretta Lynn & Conway Twitty; Sweet Dreams by Patsy Cline; Sounds of Someday by Radio Company

Warnings: sanctioned assassination; death; gun violence; graphic description of killing; violence/blood mention; mention of dead bodies; arson; implied sex; a trace amount of smut(ish?); language

Word Count: 16K+

Russell Taglist: @deangirl96 (I hope you don't mind me tagging you in this one; this is going to lead into the series that I mentioned on "So Close"); @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

You can also read on AO3

Your phone started to buzz and you glanced at the screen, rolling your eyes and letting out a sigh before picking up. That wasn’t the normal reaction you would have to seeing Colter’s name pop up on your phone but ever since that mess back at the morgue yesterday, you had been hoping he wouldn’t contact you again. At least not until his brother went back to whatever hole he’d crawled out of. But now it looked like that had been a fool’s hope, on both counts.

“You what?” You hissed.

“We’re about to head to this home in the Blue Ridge Mountains and go in to get Doug,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry, an incredible amount of stupid just sounded in my ear. Can you repeat that?”

“Reenie got me the location and it’s solid intel.” He lowered his voice. “Look, I thought we should get law enforcement involved, alright? But there’s a…valid reason why Russ doesn’t want to call them that I can’t get into right now.”

“Whoops, more stupid. One more time?”

Colter groaned into the phone. “Come on, Y/N.”

“I’m serious, Colter. What the hell are either of you think—wait, scratch that. What the hell are you thinking? Going into a dangerous location like that without any backup? If Carlos Solano found your missing man in a safehouse, do you think he won’t be armed to the teeth? That he won’t have guards patrolling the compound that you’re walking right into? That he won’t see something like this coming? You guys are walking right into a shitstorm.” Christ, you loved the guy like a long-lost brother that you sometimes kept in touch with but if he were in front of you right now, you would’ve delivered one good smack to the back of his head to get him thinking straight. Colter may know his way around a gun, but he wasn’t someone who had formal training or combat experience like Russell did. He didn’t even have your training and you wouldn’t be going in there kamikaze-style like they were.

“That’s why I’m calling you and asking you to meet us there. I’m not exactly calling in law enforcement but we’ll have one more person to watch our backs and help us search for Doug. And who better than a special agent with the FBI?”

You sat back in your chair, shaking your head but thinking it over. This was beyond stupid and you shouldn’t be encouraging it. Russell’s involvement in this idiot plan didn’t surprise you; Colter’s did. He knew better. But you also knew that if he thought he had a chance to get the missing guy back home safely, he was going to take it, no matter the personal risk. If you didn’t go like he asked and anything happened to him or Russell, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Please?” 

You pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, your decision made. “Send me the location and I’ll leave now to meet you.”

“Thank you.” You could hear the genuine gratitude in his tone. “I promise I’ll explain everything.”

“You better,” you nearly growled before disconnecting the call. You had a feeling you knew what he was going to tell you but for his sake, you hoped it wasn’t anything close to what you were thinking. But why else would Russell not want to call law enforcement for help in rescuing his friend who had been taken hostage by a foreign criminal? God, you hoped you were wrong.

You let out another loud sigh and before you could stand, your phone started ringing again. When you glanced at the screen, instead of a name, you saw “Blocked”. Not good.

You swiped green, holding it to your ear. “Y/L/N.”

“We have a problem,” said the voice on the other end, one you knew all too well, and it didn't sound happy. Shit.

You watched as Colter’s truck pulled up alongside your car. Colter got out and noticed you leaning against your trunk, arms crossed and a scowl in place. Russell came around from the other side. 

“Either of you boys see two suicidal idiots around here? Oh, wait.”

Russell’s jaw tightened. “It wasn’t my idea to call you.” He slid a glare over to his brother. 

“You’re lucky he did,” you snapped. “And since I’m here,” You got to your feet and turned to open your trunk, revealing a smorgasbord of gear and weapons. “We’re going to be doing this my way.” You held out a bulletproof vest to Colter first and he immediately started to strap it on. You held one out to Russell but he shook his head and didn’t take it. You glanced over to find he had already put his own on while you’d been grabbing one for his brother.

“Okay, look,” Russell started, his eyes scanning your makeshift armory and setting your teeth on edge. “This isn’t some FBI raid of some drug gang. This guy, Carlos Solano, he’s the real deal. He’s as dangerous as they come.”

You could feel your irritation turning into anger at the suggestion that you didn’t know how serious this was, and from him of all people. “And what am I? Some part-time mall security guard? A receptionist at the Academy? I’ve dealt with cartels before and they’re as dangerous as they come, too. So take that mansplaining and shove it right up where the sun doesn't shine.”

Russell took a step closer and laid a hand on your shoulder, his eyes burning into you. “Be pissed at me all you want but I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“But you’re okay with your brother getting hurt?” You briefly glanced in Colter’s direction. The younger man was watching you two carefully as he adjusted his vest one last time, wisely choosing to stay out of this one. 

Russell’s jaw clenched and he dropped his hand. “I’ve got him.”

You snorted and grabbed a gun, loading it quickly. “And I’ve got both of you. Now, we’ve got a bit of a hike so let’s cut the chit chat and get this over with, shall we?” You motioned for Colter to turn around and you inserted an extra handgun into the back of his belt. “We stick together as a unit. You hear me? No wandering off alone.”

Colter faced you again. “Yes, Mom,” he teased.

You swatted at his shoulder before checking the fit of his vest, nodding in approval.

“I have done this before, you know.”

You knew that already. You’d been there with him a couple of times for such instances. “Good for you,” you quipped. “But for kicks, how about you just humor me?”

He rolled his eyes and you smirked, turning to slam the trunk shut. You glanced up to find Russell watching you, his jaw still tight but his eyes containing a familiar light that you hadn’t seen in a while. “You good?”

“Yep.” And just like that, the light hollowed out, replaced by something far colder yet familiar, but not because you’d seen it in his gaze. You’d seen it often enough in your own when looking into the mirror. 

Pushing that thought away and shifting focus, you began to lead the way into the trees. “Alright, let’s do this and get Doug home in time for breakfast.” Colter flanked you on your right while Russell came up on your left. 

“Let’s rock and roll,” he agreed. 

It hadn’t been as bad as you’d been expecting, even after you’d received the intel Colter had referred to on the phone. One guard and three henchmen. You were annoyed and almost insulted that they had presented so little a challenge considering Carlos Solano was supposed to be this big bad criminal. But when you glanced over and saw Colter looking over Russell’s bloody jacket sleeve, you regretted the thought and gratitude immediately filled you that things hadn’t been worse. Russell had taken a bullet to the arm and thankfully, it had passed right through. 

Before you could shoot the bastard that shot him, Colter and Russell were on it. You watched in awe as the brothers moved as a single unit, almost as if they hadn’t been strained or missed a beat over the years. You supposed you should be happy that they were working together rather than still arguing over shit from a lifetime ago that had torn their family apart. For Colter’s sake at least.

Just then, you heard what sounded like a small plane outside. You hurried to a window and glanced outside, seeing a rapidly descending charter plane aiming for the tiny landing strip in the back of the property. Right on time.

You let the curtain fall and looked back at the guys. “Time to go.”

Doug’s face was ashen while Colter and Russell exchanged glances. Immediately, Russell picked up his gun and got ready to leave the room.

You rushed to stop him. “There will be none of that!” 

“You guys get Doug back to the truck. I’ll handle this.”

You practically jogged around him, planting yourself in his path. “Not happening.”

He glared down at you. “Y/N, I need to close this up. Move.”

You scowled right back. “You’ve been shot.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I have to finish this.”

You refused to budge. “You are not finishing anything. You’re getting the hell out of here, that’s what you’re doing.” 

“Y/N—”

“Guys, not the time,” Colter interceded. “He’s getting off that plane any second now, so what’s the plan?”

“She’s right, man,” Doug added, making both of your gazes snap over at him. “We really need to go.”

Voices suddenly sounded outside and you all glanced towards the window.

“Shit,” you muttered, quickly checking the chamber on your gun. As you were about to head out of the room, a hand grasped gently under your chin and forced your eyes to meet Russell’s. You could see the pleading there but also a stone-cold resignation. “Go with Colter and Doug,” he urged, giving you a brief but strained smile. “I need you to go.” You felt the rough skin of his thumb on your cheek as he moved it tenderly back and forth.

You knew what he was really telling you, what he planned to do, but hell if you weren’t more infuriated with him. You were so sick of the self-sacrificial bullshit. Hadn’t it cost you enough? Cost you both?

You pulled away from him, giving him a glare. “I don’t think you understand,” you said in a tone so cold you were pretty sure you could give the winds in Antarctica a run for their money. “I’m taking Solano in and I am not leaving until I have my suspect alive and in custody.” Russell looked pissed but you couldn’t care less. Better than him being dead in the next two minutes.

You turned to face Colter and Doug so they also got the message. “This case is under Federal jurisdiction now.” Colter glanced between you and his brother who you turned back to face. “I’m bringing him in. Got it?”

Russell went to say something but didn’t get the chance. The sounds of gunfire erupted right outside the room and you all had to duck for cover. 

You secured your handcuffs around Carlos Solano’s wrists that had been forced behind his back once you shoved him into the chair in the room, purposely tightening the metal bracelets past the point of comfort. The man reacted, cursing you out as you smirked up at him. 

Getting to your feet, you focused on the Shaws and Doug. Russell watched you with a glare while Colter waited for you to speak. Doug looked downright terrified. They had helped you to take down Solano’s men who had flown with him — all three of them. Russell aimed for Solano but at the last second, you got in his way and tackled the criminal to the ground. Needless to say, he wasn’t happy with you. Oh well. The feeling was mutual.

Colter placed his hands on his hips. “Alright, so how are we getting him back to the truck? Are we just going to drag him through the woods and hope we don’t come across anybody else he might have coming here? How are we going to work this?”

You slipped your gun back into your holster. “He doesn’t have anyone else coming here and the plan is that you three are going to head back to the truck and get out of here. I’m going to wait for a pickup,” You gestured towards the window with your thumb where the landing strip could be seen. “They’re nearby, waiting for my call, and they won’t take long to get here.” You shook your phone in your hand, indicating you were going to be using it.

Russell glanced around, as if expecting Agents to start popping up out of the woodworks at any second, before his eyes settled back on you. “So you called this in after all?”

You shrugged. “You were going into a fully armed compound to rescue a hostage, a two-man team against a crime lord on the FBI’s Most Wanted list? Yeah, of course, I did.”

He shook his head, chuckling and muttering a curse under his breath. “Of course you did,” he echoed, shooting a look over at his brother. 

Colter’s gaze flickered back to you. “We’ll wait with you until they get here.”

You offered up a small smile. “I appreciate it but not necessary. I’ve got this until they get here and I do the handover.”

“But—”

“Look, you should get Doug out of here.” You inclined your head in the direction of the man who was staring dazedly at the floor. “You need to get him checked out and your brother should get his arm looked at.”

“I’m fine,” Russell interjected.

You ignored him. “I’ll be alright, Colter. Believe it or not, you tend to get experience with this kind of thing once or twice before becoming a Special Agent.” You meant it as a light-hearted reassurance but you could tell that both Shaw brothers were going to be a hard sell. At least Colter’s reasoning was up front and above board.

“I’m sure but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone. Not with him.” Colter gestured towards Solano who spit in his direction.

“I won’t be for long. But you guys need to get out of here. The Bureau can’t know you were involved in this.” You shot him a meaningful look. “For multiple reasons.”

The younger man looked as if he was going to protest again when you held up a hand. “Colter. You may not like it but you need to do as I’m telling you. If the Bureau finds any of you here…” You could tell that he didn’t care so much about himself but you let your eyes briefly flick in Russell’s direction, who was busy glaring at the man you had bound to the chair. You saw Colter’s expression immediately change and you knew you had succeeded in convincing him to vacate the area as soon as possible.

He nodded his head in assent. “Okay.” He laid a hand on Doug’s shoulder, prompting the man to look up at him, and urged him to start moving to the door.

“Okay? What do you mean okay?” Russell huffed.

Colter held up a hand. “Russell—”

“No.” Russell turned a glare on you. “Not okay. He’s a loose end that needs tying up. He knows who we are now, he came after Doug, and the FBI isn’t going to do shit with him.” You narrowed your eyes in a glare but he continued. “That’s not an insult. It’s the truth and you know it. They’re going to what? Get him to talk, to roll over on someone else he has connections to who’s higher up their food chain, and he gets off scot free? No, not happening on my watch.” 

He took a step forward and so did you, in front of Solano. You drew your gun but held it loosely across your waist, your finger on the trigger, ready and waiting should you need it. Russell stopped cold, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the weapon in your hand. Colter and Doug were frozen, watching the scene unfold.

“I told you,” you said in the most deadly serious tone you could muster. “I’m taking him in, alive. If you have a problem with that, well…” You flipped the safety on the gun off. “You’ll have to go through me. And I promise you, my aim is a hell of a lot more accurate at close range than it’s ever been.”

Russell didn’t blink, he just kept scowling at you.

“Russ?” Colter called.

“Don’t make me kill you in front of him, Russell,” you murmured so only the two of you would hear. You were serious as a heart attack. No matter how you had felt about him once upon a time, this was important enough for you to make good on your threat if you needed to.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would and it will be justified by the higher ups as protection of a high-valued target before your body goes cold.” You hated saying the words but it was nothing but the truth that you spoke. You hoped he heard the message underneath your words: walk away, this isn’t worth dying over. “And he’ll be further traumatized,” you inclined your head in Colter’s direction. “Losing his brother right in front of him, just like he lost his dad.” You knew that was a severely low blow but he also needed to hear you. 

As expected, Russell’s jaw clenched and you saw a twitch in the good arm he had, the one that was holding his gun. “Don’t be stupid and do that to him,” you warned. “Walk away.”

That cold look was back in his eyes again. You mentally prepared yourself for what was about to go down. You had hoped he wouldn’t force your hand but then again, Russell Shaw had always been the epitome of stubborn, usually to his own detriment…and yours.   

“Russell?” Colter tried again.

“Russ, come on, man. Let it be for now,” Doug added in, trying to help. “And let’s regroup.”

This time, Russell appeared to hear them both, his gaze breaking from yours momentarily, flickering over Solano behind you, who was laughing and smirking in the former’s direction, clearly enjoying the standoff over him. 

Russell’s eyes met yours again but this time, there was nothing familiar about the green you used to stare into when he’d sway with you on the dance floor to a slow song playing overhead or when you’d both wear matching sated grins and laugh, a pleasant exhaustion overtaking you as he pulled you into his arms in a motel bed. It was almost like staring into a dark void and you couldn’t help but wonder how often that void showed up during war or if the war created it — the old chicken or the egg question. Either way, you knew you’d succeeded in convincing him to leave, but you’d also have to watch yourself. There was no warmth left in those jade-colored orbs when they focused on you. You’d done your work well; you’d crossed a line that you could never go back from.

“Alright,” he capitulated, loud enough that the two men near the doorway heard him. He relaxed his arm and slipped his gun into a pocket in his vest. His face lightened a little and a strained smile worked its way across his face. He glanced back at his brother. “She’s right. We should get Doug out of here.” He turned back to face you, his smile fading. “She’s got this.” He then glanced in Solano’s direction, smirking right back. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, giving him a finger gun and winking, before his expression became stone once more and he walked away, glaring at you as he did.

You lifted your chin, not reacting in the slightest, until Solano shouted out, “You’ll be seeing me? No, puta, I’ll be seeing you. You’ll never see it coming, you hear me? You’ll never see it co—” You spun a few degrees and pistol-whipped him, causing the jackass to cry out in pain before you turned back to face Doug and the two most important men in your life. “Get going,” you growled out, lifting your phone with your other hand as a subtle threat.

Colter gave you a nod, the concern still there in his dark brown gaze as he led Doug out the door. Russell’s eyes never left you, even when he walked out the door a moment later, following his little brother’s lead. You never looked away even when he was past the threshold. 

You ignored Solano’s yelling threats and kept your eyes on the spot you had last seen the Shaws disappear through a few minutes longer than needed, tense and ready in case Russell decided to double back. Though you highly doubted he’d come at you from the same angle. A part of you was making sure you stayed prepared in case there was an ambush, yes, but another part of you knew your gaze was lingering on the spot because you knew things had now drastically changed between you and Russell forever. He would never forgive your threats and you would never forgive yourself for having to make them. Though that remorse was more related to Colter than his brother. Regardless, when it came to the Shaws now, you were fucked. Not even Dory would want to hear from you, not that she had all that much before, but now it was definitely a no go. And that saddened you tremendously.

Hearing more of Solano’s threats, you recentered your focus on the task at hand and prepared to wait, giving him one more pistol whip for good measure, before you settled in and kept both eyes and ears open for any possible ambush that might come your way before you could finish up here. 

You leaned against the workstation next to the chair, waiting, gun still in hand and your eyes focused on it. You had waited a certain amount of time to allow the boys to get out of the area.

“The soldado was right, you know. They’re not going to hold me,” Solano bragged.

You briefly closed your eyes in annoyance. He had been talking ever since you were left alone with him. He had offered you money to let him go, offered you riches and power that you knew for a fact he had no business offering. He even had the nerve to propose making you one of his new lieutenants, citing your fighting skills and gun handling that he’d briefly witnessed. He knew you would be able to protect him because you had from the asesinos who had killed his brother. He then changed tactics, threatening you, your loved ones, the men who just left…now, he was boasting about how he would walk free and whatever charges were thrown at him wouldn’t stick. You just wished he would shut the hell up already. Needless to say, it had been a long twenty minutes. You now understood why his brother had been the businessman and he was only the muscle willing to do the dirty work. His bargaining skills were for shit, not that it mattered in the scheme of things. No deals were being made today.

“I offer them a little bit of money and they’ll just make the case go away. Just like that.”

You checked your watch. Twenty two minutes now. That was good enough. You slowly got to your feet and moved past him to look out the window. You had purposely moved his chair out of the sight of the glass, in case Russell got any ideas.

“That’s how it works here in America. Everybody knows that. If the criminals have money and power, they don’t stay in jail.”

You ignored him, glancing around to see if there was any movement outside. You didn’t see any. 

“They won’t keep me locked up. They weren’t able to in my home country. What makes you think they’ll be able to here? Where corruption is ripe and anyone can be bought? And then I’ll be coming for you and for your friends. You will wish for death long before I am through with you.”

You made your way to another window, lifting the curtain and looking around. Still nothing.

“There’s no point in bringing me to jail. It will never hold me.”

You lowered the curtain and squared your shoulders, turning to face his direction. You focused on him, staring right into his eyes. “You know, I think you’re right.”

Solano seemed pleasantly surprised for a moment, thinking you were finally stupid enough to take one of his offers, before his eyes narrowed with realization. “No, wait—”

You quickly lifted your gun and squeezed off a round. His head snapped back from the force and the space behind him was spattered with red among other things. One glance confirmed your aim had been accurate; he was dead. Right through the eye. What you’d said to Russell earlier hadn’t been an exaggeration; you were much more accurate at close range than you’d ever been.

You slipped a pair of gloves on that you pulled from your pants pocket and immediately started unzipping the small compartments on the side of your vest where you usually kept extra ammo in a raid, pulling out small white bottles that weren’t sporting any labels. You began to squirt the liquid from inside them all around the room, dousing Solano’s body with a healthy amount.

You continued into the house, having quite a few bottles of lighter fluid to empty out in specific areas that would help achieve your goal. Arson wasn’t your preferred route but it did get rid of pesky little things like hair and DNA, and what it didn’t, it contaminated which would make it harder for not only law enforcement but the justice system to work with. Though you weren’t too worried about either looking at this particular house fire too closely.

You didn’t bother collecting any bullet casings, knowing that your gun and the ones you’d given Colter to use would be untraceable even if they somehow managed to get a hold of any of the weapons (which they wouldn’t). And Russell’s gun…you figured he had that handled. The only thing you did collect were your handcuffs. 

You also didn’t bother staging anything for the scene. There was already enough evidence that pointed to the theory that Solano’s own men had turned on him and a gunfight ensued, resulting in the multiple dead bodies. While an arson specialist would most likely be able to tell that an accelerant had been used, there was no way for them to confirm just who had been present for this battle and who had gotten away. Satellite imagery would be shoddy at best due to the foliage cover (and eventual smoke) but still, you planned to set the fire and make your getaway out the back, crossing over the landing strip so if they went back to look for any heat signatures after the fire started, it would be one person leaving the scene alive, the person they would assume had started the blaze. There were no nearby neighbors to immediately call first responders but that didn’t mean smoke wouldn’t be seen from the sky from miles away or that a fiery orange blaze in the distance wouldn’t be noticed by residents of another vacation home or cars traveling the backroads in the area. Since you planned to go into the deep woods and take the long roundabout route back to your car, you weren’t too worried about your path being followed.

Once you had completed all of your tasks, you used the fireplace to help, moving the grate out of the way, starting a fire, and then knocking a fiery log onto the wooden flooring. You used a lighter to set flammable materials that you could find to add to the flames. Only when the room was nearly engulfed did you finally slip a beanie from your pocket, cover your head fully, and make your way out of the house. Once at the landing strip, you ducked under the plane, making sure you couldn’t be seen from above. 

You watched as the flames consumed the house. Once the smoke was sufficient, flames were ragings out of the windows, and the sound of breaking glass could be heard, you knew it was time for you to vacate the vicinity before the sirens started up. It was fortunate that most people were asleep at this hour but the sun was due to come up not too long from now and you had a long trek ahead of you, so you needed to get moving.

You kept your head down and made your way into the woods surrounding the property line. 

The sun was breaching the horizon and quickly warming the sky by the time you made it back to your car. You were relieved that Colter’s truck was gone and you needed to quickly make tracks as well. Sirens had started up an hour ago and you needed to get the hell out of Dodge before the cops were all over these roads. You tossed your weapons and vest into the trunk and got in the car. You slipped your beanie off your head, tossing it onto the seat next to you, and started the engine.

Just as you had expected, cops were everywhere but thankfully, you had timed it just right and gotten out before they could block all of the mountain roads. Once you were back in town a few hours later and a certain distance away, you pulled a phone out of your glove compartment you kept there for emergencies and turned it on. You pressed a button and it immediately dialed the number programmed — the only number you had saved on this device. 

It rang once before the same voice from yesterday picked up. “Is it done?”

“We’re clear,” you confirmed. “It’s been handled.”

“Shaw?”

Your jaw clenched. You knew that despite how you and Russell had left things earlier, you would do whatever it took to keep him breathing. “He’s a soldier. He follows orders.”

“He wasn’t so willing to follow orders in this situation.”

“You know what they’re taught. Leave no man behind. He got his man so he’ll be fine. Things can go back to how they were. He’s not going to be an issue and he’s clean, just like you wanted.”

And then you were asked the one question you didn’t want to hear. “And the brother? What’s your assessment?”

The knuckles of your free hand gripped your steering wheel so tightly that you could see how white your skin turned from the pressure. “Non-issue. He has no interest in you.”

“He seemed interested yesterday.”

You forced yourself to remain calm and nonchalant. “He’s paid to be nosy when someone goes missing so he can get them found. He found who he was looking for, he was able to keep the promise to the guy’s wife — it’s over for him. The case is closed, it’s as simple as that for him. He’s no threat.”

You waited to hear a response, holding your breath and your hand gripping the wheel even tighter, your body tensed. This would be what decided your fate. Either you would be allowed to go on as before or you’d be going on a mission up against one of the top private security contractor firms in the world which wouldn’t end well for you. But you’d take out whoever you could with you before you were killed.

Another moment passed before the voice replied, “Understood.”

Your body relaxed slightly and your shoulders sunk in relief. Colter was safe. Russell was safe…for now. And you didn’t have to go all Rambo Kamikaze on anyone. Win-win all around.

“I’ll let the higher ups know the situation has been contained. Good work. We’ll be in touch.”

Without waiting for a response from you, the call disconnected. You quickly shut the phone off and tossed it back into its original spot. You let out a deep breath and the exhaustion from the past twelve hours immediately overtook your body. Deciding that returning to your place was not an option for you right now, you headed to another part of town, parked your car on the street some blocks away to the nearest motel, and using a baseball cap to cover your hair along with sunglasses, you hoofed it and then booked a room, paying cash and using a fake name. Once you set up everything you needed to in your quarters, you slipped onto the mattress and got some much needed rest, keeping your gun under your pillow within reach should you need it.

You pulled up to Colter’s trailer, watching as he stepped outside to greet you. You put your car in park, took a deep breath, and got out. You offered Colter a small smile. “Hey.”

He returned it. “Hey.”

You had been surprised when Colter called you a few days later to let you know he was still in town for a bit and invited you to drop by for a beer. Not surprised that he was still around (you already knew that) but surprised that he even wanted to speak to you. Perhaps Russell hadn’t told him what you’d threatened back in the mountains.

You took the beer he offered to you and followed him over to the firepit, taking a seat on one of the coolers. He sat nearby and held up his bottle in a toast. You mirrored him and then you both took a sip. You nearly sighed in satisfaction as the carbonated beverage slid down your throat. You enjoyed the taste and checked the label. “Mmm, home brew…not bad. You got something you want to tell me? Planning on opening some sort of brewery outfit anytime soon?” You were teasing but if Colter really was thinking of doing something else — anything else — instead of his current job, you’d fully support it.

“Not me.” Disappointment flared in your chest, your hope dashed. “Russ was actually the one who made it. I had some left over from the other night.”

The beer suddenly began to sour in your stomach. Well, you supposed it was good that Russell was starting to think of the future, the most important part of that being that there would be one. It still burned a bit, though.

You decided to change the subject so you wouldn’t have to think about that right then. “So, your guy is back home safe?”

Colter nodded. “Dropped him off myself.” Something else you already knew but you had to keep up appearances.

You nodded, biting your lip and staring into the flames. “And your brother?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Colter’s jaw tense for a moment. “Gone.” Though you had an idea that was the case, Colter’s confirmation still stung, like someone poking a finger into an old wound after ripping the scar tissue away. But what else had you expected? This was Russell Shaw you two were talking about after all.

You snorted and shook your head, taking another swig of beer. “Of course he is.”

He turned to look at you. “You know, you never told me what happened between you two.”

You shrugged a shoulder. “Not worth going into, trust me.”

Thankfully, Colter left it alone and he rolled with it when you brought up a different topic instead. 

“So, how much longer are you here for?”

“Teddi and Velma are working on that right now actually. Hopefully, something pops up soon.” He took another sip of beer, turning to gaze at the flames as well.

“It will.” Fortunately for him and sadly for others, someone would always go missing.

“How about you? Are they sending you somewhere for a new case or are they going to let you stay local for a bit? If it’s the latter, maybe you could get a dog for that place of yours?”

You smirked and ran your thumb down the smooth glass of the brown bottle in your hand. Colter kept teasing you about the residence you maintained nearby considering you were never really there most of the time. He’d then extoll the virtues of living on the open road, not having roots put down anywhere that would grow into expectations, and the unrestrained thrill of it all. The first time you’d had that conversation, you knew then that the desire to keep moving and stay unburdened must be a male Shaw thing. Dory seemed happy where she had settled and you — you wanted a home base. Some place you could come back to where you were still able to connect to yourself again, no matter how lost at sea you might be at times, no matter how much you felt as if every single piece of you was floating away on the wind until only a monster was left standing there, staring back at you in the rearview mirror of your car.

“Right now, I have a few things I need to close up,” you lied. “Then I’ll probably get sent out in the field again to work some cases.” You hated lying to him but you had no choice. His safety came first. As much as you had hated Russell for a time, you could now appreciate the difficult position he was in. Though, he had chosen to be put there, and now, so had you. 

You watched Colter nod, accepting your answer. “I still think a German Shepherd would be a great choice for you,” he teased. “You know, a big dog, trainable, would make a good guard dog. You could take it with you, chase suspects down together...”

“Oh yeah, I could see it now,” you played along. “I’d have to sneak him into hotel rooms, make sure he doesn’t take a shit on the rug… Then we’d go on the job and I could introduce him to everyone, ‘I’m Special Agent Y/L/N but you can call me Turner and this is my partner Hooch.’”

Colter winced. “No, no. You have to give him a name that will strike fear into the hearts of the criminals you track down. Like General or Commando or Killer. Killer! Now that’s a good name. That will make anyone think twice about running from a dog with that name.”

This time, you were the one who winced though you hid it well. Instead, you forced out a laugh. “I am not getting a huge dog named Killer and bringing him to work with me.”

He grinned. “That’s a shame. I would have loved to have seen the look on your face when the dog would sit in the front seat.”

“There would be no front seat sitting. Back seat only.”

“Like a criminal who he just helped you to arrest? That’s cold, even for you.”

“I am so glad that you have this imaginary dog of mine’s back.”

He snickered and took a drink, looking back at the flames. Your smile slowly faded as you did the same. You both sat there, drinking in a companionable silence for a bit.

Eventually, your eyes flickered over towards him. “I need you to promise me something.”

His brows drew together questioningly when he met your gaze.

“Horizon…” You noticed him tense slightly at the mention. “No more.” When you saw the confusion in his expression, you elaborated. “No more digging, no more Reenie asking her contacts about them, no more mention of them period. You got the guy you were looking for. Now, put it to bed and forget that you ever knew they existed.”

His confusion increased. “I did put it to bed the second I dropped Doug off at his door and saw him hug his wife.”

You gave him a look. “Col, I need you to promise me,” you softly entreated. 

His brows arched slightly at the use of the nickname; you didn’t use it often and if you were, then he knew you meant business. He also knew what you were telling him without explicitly saying it; Horizon was dangerous and they were better left alone. It would be better for him to get a case of sudden amnesia about anything related to the organization.

He watched you for a moment before giving you a nod. “As long as nobody else goes missing like Doug did and as long as Russ is okay, they’re forgotten.”

You knew that was the best you were going to get from him and you leaned forward slightly. “And if anything happens to Russ, I’ll be right there with you, knocking on their front door,” you promised. And you would be; no question about it.

The corner of his lips tipped up in the beginning of a smile and after a moment, you couldn’t help but return it. 

The coffee shop you were in was decently quiet considering it was around 8:55 in the morning and most people were making their last minute dashes for caffeine before the working day began. You sat near the window, facing the entrance so you could keep an eye on who came in and out. You had ordered your usual, a soy vanilla latte, and you carefully sipped at the hot liquid. You scanned your phone for the day’s headlines, looking for any updates on the mysterious house fire that started in the mountains a few nights ago.  

You knew you wouldn’t find any and sure enough, you didn’t. Someone was working overtime to squash the case from up above, just like you knew they would. You also knew that some local law enforcement officials didn’t buy the criminals-turning-on-their-boss theory and they actually thought the scene looked like a professional hit. Exactly what you figured would happen when accelerants had been found to be used at the scene. As much as you were sure the cops were looking to sink their teeth into something exciting to happen in those parts in however long, the bottom line was the case would get dropped and no one was going to care what happened to a violent criminal like Carlos Solano. The FBI would actually be relieved to remove one more name from their list, one more file from their desks. One more dangerous bad guy removed from the world that threatened American citizens as well as national security. No one was going to miss the murderous bastard.

You powered down your screen and placed your phone on the table, turning to glance out the window. That was when you saw him. Well, the reflection of him. 

You watched as he walked towards you, still dressed in a ratty pair of jeans and old boots, wearing another t-shirt with a different musician on it while sporting an open button-up over it, and donning that old military style jacket. His eyes were intent on you and you had to wonder how he had gotten in without you seeing him. The answer was in the reflection of someone walking past him to get to the bathrooms in the rear of the cafe. There was no exit located near there, you knew that because this was a local spot of yours, so how did he… Shit.

Even though you watched him in the glass and he watched you back, you didn’t give anything away to alert him that you knew he was there. You started calculating in your head how many people stood in between you and the front door (your only exit at this point), how much force you would have to use to catch him off guard and knock him to the ground so you could make your escape, and how fast you would have to run to your car. You even had a moment to debate drawing your gun and your badge, and making a scene to get yourself out of this mess. But all of that proved to be for naught when he came to a stop near you and announced his presence by asking, “This seat taken?”

You slowly turned to face him, arching an inquisitive brow, but you eventually shook your head. His lips twitched into the beginning of a smirk and he took the seat across from you. His eyes were a lot lighter than they were the other day as they took you in. “Looking good, Y/N. Like always.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Really?”

He shrugged and reached for your coffee, taking the lid off. You hated it when he did this, the whole sharing coffee thing; now you would need to order another one…well, depending on how this impromptu meeting went. “What, I can’t tell my girl that she looks good?” He took a sip and made a face. “How do you still drink this crap? It tastes like foam mixed with shit.”

“And free garbage coffee from the lobby of the latest scuzzy motel you’re staying in doesn’t?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. They have real nice machines now and it tastes the way coffee should. Not like this bullshit.”

You watched as he grabbed a spoon, added some sugar, and began stirring the crap out of what had once been your perfect latte. You thought over what he’d said before. “I’m not your girl, Russell.” His eyes met yours. “I haven’t been for some time now.”

He finished stirring and removed the spoon, lifting the glass to take a sip. “You’ll always be my girl.”

You snorted and lifted a finger in the air to signal to the barista that you wanted another coffee. The kid gave you a nod and turned to make it. “Is that what you tell yourself when you’re hooking up with cheerleaders-turned-dental-hygienists in hot tubs?”

Russell pressed his lips together and looked appropriately chastised, not even bothering to deny it. “Colter told you. I should’ve known he would mention it. You two were always close like that.”   

You didn’t confirm or deny that. There was no point in mentioning that Colter hadn’t been the one to tell you, not intentionally anyway. Instead, you leaned forward in your chair. “What do you want, Russell?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” You snapped. You had been on edge, thinking he was here to either kill you or threaten you. Then him hitting on you and making that asinine and incredibly presumptuous statement bothered you more than you cared to admit. Not to mention he pissed you off when he took the latte you’d decided to treat yourself with after a few difficult days (without even asking you might add), knowing how that had irked you anytime he did it when you were dating. It was like the man was begging you to put a foot in his ass.

Russell glanced around briefly before removing something from inside his jacket. It was a folded up newspaper and he slapped it down in front of you. A picture of a burnt out structure stared back up at you with the headline reading above it “House Fire Claims 8 Lives, Sheriff Confirms Arson”. Your eyes met his and in that moment, you knew that he knew.

You refused to give it away just like that, though. If he wanted the truth, he’d have to work for it. He wasn’t getting anything for free, not from you, not anymore. You gave him a smirk. “Is this your way of telling me that you’ve finally learned to read, Russ? I’m impressed, really.”

Instead of being insulted, his eyes widened slightly. “You called me Russ.”

You sat back in your chair, pushing the newspaper away from you and prying eyes, waiting for the barista making his way over to you to deliver your coffee. “Slip of the tongue. Won’t happen again.” You smiled at the young kid in thanks when he placed the drink down in front of you and promptly slid your glass out of Russell’s reach. He saw it and immediately worked to smother a smile as the kid walked away.

“So, you got any more interesting tricks I should know about?”

Without any preamble, Russell said, “Solano’s dead,” the exact second you took a sip of your new coffee. If he was expecting any reaction to the news, he was in for disappointment when you didn’t give it.

“Yes, I heard. Quite unfortunate.”

“They’re all dead actually. Even that guard we subdued in the beginning.”

You remembered; you’d been the one to kill him after all. Once Russell and Colter got to their feet after knocking the guard out and started moving towards the house, you quietly pulled a knife and slipped the blade into the side of the man’s head. You’d cut his zip ties, removed them and the gag, and then caught up to the guys — all within seconds. You had made sure to move the guard’s body inside later, right before you’d started the fire, trying your best to get rid of any drag marks you’d left on the ground. You were there to clean up the mess, not leave witnesses, even if they had never seen any of you coming.

You nodded. “I know, I heard that, too. Is there a point here somewhere or can I get back to the nice morning I was having before you showed up to steal my coffee?”

Russell was the one to lean forward this time, lowering his voice even further. “You said you were calling in the FBI for a pickup. Who did you really call?”

You could tell he was trying to give you an out, an opportunity to explain that it wasn’t what he was thinking, and maybe you should have lied your ass off…but you no longer wanted to. You knew Russell; he wasn’t going to let this go until he had an answer that he deemed to be the truth. And while you could give him a distorted version of that truth that didn’t land at your feet, a petty part of you wanted him to know. 

“Y/N?” He pressed. “Who did you call?”

You sat back in your chair, considering him for a moment before you spoke. “No one.”

Russell dropped his head, briefly closing his eyes. “Fuck, I was afraid of that.” He glanced up at you, his eyes full of a sadness you hadn’t seen in some time. You knew he wouldn’t be happy if he ever found out the truth, but not to this extent. “I told you to walk away and let me handle it.” His voice was softer, not as gruff as before. You realized then that you’d accomplished what that vindictive side of you had wanted all along, ever since the day he walked away; you’d hurt him and caused him pain. Pain that you could see clear as day lining his face right now. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. And quite frankly, that pain caught you off guard. After all of this time, this is what it took for him to feel even a sliver of what you’d felt back in the day when he’d left you bleeding, your heart torn from your chest and sitting in pieces on the floor he’d just casually walked over to get to the door?

Not really sure what to make of this development or the emotions it caused to rise up within you, you went into pure professional mode and forged ahead. “The three of you didn’t need to be involved.” You could see the pain getting worse and it made you uncomfortable, something prodding at your chest and itching at your skin that you really didn’t care for. “Besides, last I checked, I don’t take orders from you, Shaw.” You threw his last name in there as a last resort to put even more distance there between you.

His eyes flicked from the newspaper to you. “Who do you take orders from then? Something tells me this wasn’t FBI-sanctioned.” 

You surreptitiously glanced around you before leaning in, lowering your voice.“You know, going to your handler’s house during her kid’s birthday party was a pretty bad idea. Ann really didn’t like that.” You watched as Russell’s eyes widened slightly before his face fell, a dreaded realization filling his expression. He had never mentioned her name to you before and he knew Colter hadn’t mentioned her to you either when giving you the rundown of what they knew before meeting up in the mountains. You sat back, tensed and ready for whatever came next. 

His jaw clenched. “How long?” He ground out.

“Long enough.”

You kept your gaze trained on his and you did your best to read him, trying to assess what he might do, now that the pain was all but absent since your revelation. Would he tell you to watch your back and leave? Would he tell you to stay away from Colter for good? It was hard to gauge from the way he was staring at you right then. You could see anger bubbling underneath but you also caught something coming to the surface that strangely looked like remorse. Considering you hadn’t seen that emotion on him too often, it was tough to be sure in your identification of it. And then something flickered in his eyes right then, something so fast you almost didn’t catch it, but you did. Fear that quickly dissolved into determination. You braced yourself for whatever he would say or do; this was it. This would determine your next steps.

Instead, he surprised you once more. He snatched the newspaper up and slipped it back into his jacket, before reaching over and taking your hand in his. “I’m getting you out of here. Now. Let’s go.”

Stunned, you wordlessly got to your feet but then it hit you, you were about to go somewhere alone with him. Not that you couldn’t handle yourself but he had still been Special Ops once upon a time and he killed people for a living…just like you. 

“Russell, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” he growled. “I’m getting you as far from here as I can. I’ve got a buddy who has a cabin in upstate New York. It’s got months-long supplies, power and running water, and a small armory. You’ll be safe there until this whole thing blows over.”

You yanked your hand out of his and grabbed your phone and jacket. “I’m plenty safe here. I have no reason to run, so I’m staying. You want to leave? Go right ahead. We both know it’s what you’re best at.” The sadness was back but you looked away from it. Yes, that had been another low blow but it was also well-deserved. You moved past him, refusing to look over your shoulder even once. There was no way he’d do anything out in the open; he wouldn’t dare risk it, especially now.

You slipped into your car, not surprised in the least when Russell got in on the other side before you could even think about locking the doors.

“What are you doing?” You hissed.

“What’s it look like?” He clicked his seatbelt. “I’m staying with you until you agree to my plan to get you someplace safe or you explain how the hell this even happened.” He pulled out the newspaper, holding it up for a moment before tossing it to the floor. You could see the determined set to his jaw and you knew he meant it. 

“Russell,” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I do not have time for this.” You blew out a quiet breath and turned to face him. “Now I suggest you get out of my car or—”

“You’ll shoot me?” He shot you a look. Yeah, he was still pissed about the threats you’d made a few nights ago. You supposed you couldn’t blame him but you did what you had to do to get him and his brother out of there. You had regrets but they were slim. “We both know you won’t.”

That infuriated you and had you seething. “You think I won’t?”

“I know you won’t. Just like I know that no matter how much you tell yourself that you hate me, you really don’t.”

You scoffed out a laugh in disbelief. “Wow, you really are incredibly delusi—”

“I also know you would never do that to my brother.” Your glare in his direction intensified. “You’ve always been protective of him. Just like me.” A glimmer of a fond smile worked its way onto his bearded face.

Your jaw clenched and you looked away from him, back towards the coffee shop you had just stormed out of, your grip tightening on your steering wheel. It was true; you’d always looked out for Colter in some way ever since you’d gotten to know him through Russell. 

While the relationship between the brothers had been strained for years, it didn’t mean that there hadn’t been a couple of times where Dory hadn’t attempted to get them into a room together to try to fix what had been broken. In one such instance, Russell had brought you along, after shocking you by asking you two nights before to accompany him. The man had spent over a decade in the military, worked Special Ops, and there wasn’t much he was afraid of, if at all. But when you were wrapping leftovers to throw into the fridge and he’d laid a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him, you’d never seen Russell Shaw look so worried, vulnerable, and damn near terrified in all of the time you’d known him. You’d even felt it when he’d enfolded you into his arms and whispered into your ear that he was due to meet up with his family in the next two days, asking you to come with him. How could you say no to that? You knew of the family’s tragic history and the simmering tensions that still existed between the Shaws who were still alive; Russell had told you everything, even about how his mom had hung him out to dry (though he made excuses for her which made you grind your teeth). And for him to ask you to go, to meet his family, you knew then just how important this was for him. So you went, squeezed his hand in silent support whenever he appeared to need it, and did your best to provide distraction whenever things got a little too tense or heated. Dory didn’t care for you too much; you got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t happy Russell had brought an interloper to a family-only discussion. But Colter…Colter you got along with from the start. 

Colter seemed happier to talk to you than his brother and you could tell that bothered Russell tremendously. He had told you once how much he missed his siblings at times, especially his little brother, and he would never stop hoping to patch things up with them one day. Sure enough, he tried to interject into the conversation a few times with you helping as much as you could, but each time Colter shut him down. It was blatantly obvious that the younger man wanted nothing to do with him and there was definitely some resentment still floating around after years of estrangement. Needless to say, things hadn’t ended well at that dinner and you weren’t surprised that Russell drank a little heavier that night. Nor were you surprised when he grasped at you in the hotel room and pulled you to him, his lips claiming yours as he began unbuttoning your shirt and moving you towards the bed. You knew he was hurting and you let him take solace in you as you whispered loving assurances in his ear. 

After that, Colter surprised you by calling you a couple of months down the road, apologetically asking for your help on a case he had picked up. Though he didn’t know you well, he was in a rough spot and needed a helping hand, particularly a Federal one. You saw the opportunity for what it had been, an opening of a possible door between him and Russell, so you took it. You helped Colter as much as you could without risking being read the riot act by your superior, and you two got to know each other better as you worked together. It happened a few more times and you had even called Colter in to assist on a case of your own that you had snagged. You had gone for beers afterwards each time and you’d tried your best to talk to him, to convince him to give Russell a chance. He hadn’t been interested, was resistant to it even, but he liked you and he was starting to trust you a little more each time. He’d even reluctantly admitted once that he was glad his brother had you, immediately following up with “He better be treating you right, though.” You had simply smiled and assured him that Russell very much was. 

You didn’t mention the odd absences a few times a month (sometimes with little to no warning), the radio silence during these stints, and the avoidance of any penetrating questions upon his return — all of it that had become conditional to your relationship by that point. And Russell certainly wasn’t happy at all to find out you’d been working with Colter once you told him. You both had arguments before like any common couple but nothing like this. You had never seen him so angry and he’d laughed when you told him he had no need to be jealous if that was what he was worried about, you loved him and you were trying to make things better for the both of them, to pave the way for him to be able to make peace with his brother. 

“You just don’t get it.” 

He had shaken his head and glared over at you before he walked out of the room, away from you. From then on, Russell became even more secretive, distant, and cold as ice. Gone was the easy affection, heart to heart talks, and playful banter between you. Gone were the tender touches, gentle kisses, and passionate sex. The love of your life turned into a stranger right before your very eyes. It hadn’t been too long after that when he’d left for good, leaving your heart shattered on your hardwood floor. As time passed, you were surprised he hadn’t just packed up and left in the middle of the night while you were sleeping, without a single word to you and completely ghosting you, since he had been intent on leaving you in his past. It might have been kinder actually compared to the things he’d said to you as a final goodbye before walking away for good. 

So whenever you had dared to think back on it over the last few years, you’d always figured the fight over Colter had contributed in some way to the rapid unraveling of your relationship. Well, that fight and…other things.

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” Russell urged, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Come on, Y/N, you owe me that at least.”

You turned the most menacing glare on him that was possible for you to give someone. “I don’t owe you shit,” you bit out. How dare he say that? To you of all people?  

His jaw tightened and after a moment, he agreed with a soft nod. “Fair enough.” 

You broke away from his intent gaze a minute later, your decision made as you turned the car on. “You know what? If this will get you out of my life for good this time, then fine. Let’s talk. And don’t be so sure I won’t shoot you afterwards should you continue to piss me off. You’re right, I do care about Colter,” You scowled over at him. “But not that deeply.”

Russell matched your scowl but wisely kept quiet as you backed your car out of your parking spot. You felt an immediate surge of guilt for having said that about his younger brother. You did care about Colter, more than you would ever admit to anyone, even your ex. There was nothing remotely romantic between you two; there never had been and there never would be. But Russell had been right; you were protective of him. Not only because he was a good man but he also reminded you of someone you had lost long ago. You would bend over backwards to keep him safe (as safe as you could given his chosen career), even if it meant putting yourself in harm’s way. He had truly become like a brother to you. 

But you had also meant what you said just now. If Russell continued to irritate you, there was no way he was leaving this time without you putting a bullet in him. Right in his ass before the door could hit it when he turned his back on you for the last time. That or a good old fashioned ass kicking in the form of your right hook. After everything he’d done, he deserved nothing less.  

You pulled up to a local motel that you had booked a room at the last few days, in case you needed to close up shop and haul ass out of town quickly. It wasn’t the same establishment you had gone to the morning of the fire and you still had your place thirty minutes away, but you had learned it was always best to prepare for any eventuality. Especially after a job needing to be done so close to home. You had seen what happened with Doug; who was to say Horizon wouldn’t leave you out to dry, too, should the heat from the fire get a little too close?

You got out and headed over to the door, unlocking it and stepping inside, not looking back to see if Russell was following you. Neither of you had spoken on the ride over (which was probably for the best) and you didn’t glance at him once. Instead, you had done your damndest to tamp down the fury you felt racing through your veins as more and more memories played out in your mind. Now that Russell had a vague idea of the truth of what you had been doing all of this time, everything you had ever wanted to say to him seemed to be trying to rush to the surface as well as all of the pain you had endured.

You slipped your suit jacket off and tossed it onto the bedspread. You heard the door shut behind you and you spun around, seeing Russell’s eyes scanning the room, stopping on the bed, and then lifting to you. You scoffed and unbuttoned the sleeves of your blouse, rolling them up to your forearms. “Not happening so don’t even think about it,” you hissed.

“Wasn’t going there.”

You didn’t believe him. “Right.” You took a seat at the table and impatiently gestured to the seat across from you. “Well?”

He sat down and without missing a beat, dove right in. “How the hell did this even happen, Y/N?”

“Really? That’s what you’re starting out with?”

Russell shot you a look.

You let out an aggravated sigh and sat back in your chair, crossing your legs and getting comfortable. “I was recruited, not too long after you left.”

His jaw dropped. “They approached you?”

Nodding, your jaw tightened thinking back to that time. It wasn’t a memory you liked revisiting. You were at your lowest, Russell having just walked out like the four and a half years you’d spent together hadn’t meant a damn thing to him. He had been it for you. You had put everything you had into the relationship, which proved to be a difficult balancing act sometimes between your career at the Bureau and Russell’s job that he wouldn’t tell you too much about. You both had overcome so much together…all for him to tell you that he simply didn’t love you anymore, give you a shitty apology, and walk right out the door years later. Like you had simply been an amusing distraction, nothing more. Like you had merely been a stopping point in his journey and now he was bored and moving on. The breakup would’ve hurt regardless but the cold detached manner he’d spoken to you with caused more pain than you would have ever been willing to admit. It was a good thing you had already become a Special Agent by then, not stuck to any one location or field office, given how often you were hungover for some weeks there. You had attempted to track him down (which hadn’t been easy) to try to talk to him, to make him see reason; you didn’t believe that he had stopped loving you just like that. But when you had finally located him, he had been holed up in a dingy motel, similar to this one, but he wasn’t alone. That had hurt beyond words and it had taken everything for you not to say anything, not to let him see you, and turn back around, heading home with your tail between your legs and your head hanging in heartbroken defeat. 

None of it made sense to you. How had your life changed so drastically in a single day? Perhaps you had never really known Russell Shaw. Perhaps you only saw what he wanted you to see. But when you replayed the last few weeks of your relationship, even the fight over Colter, something still wasn’t jiving. So you buried yourself in work during the day and as deep into the bottle as you could during the late nights. Until they showed up.

“And you said yes?” He asked in disbelief.

Your eyes flicked to Russell, narrowing. “Why not? You did.”

He pressed his lips together. You had him there and he knew it. “That was different.”

“How?” You snapped. “Exactly how is that different, Russell?”

“I joined them long before you and I met.” Yeah, you knew that now. You knew everything he hadn’t told you the time you’d been together, minus the actual details of the off the books missions he went on. You now knew why Doug had never told Tracy anything either. Not only were they not allowed to, but It was safer that way.

“Well, bully for you, Shaw. You’ve got a few years on me at being a black ops agent and you’ve racked up a few more bodies than I have. Told way more lies, too. Congrats. Do we get you a cake or…?”

He leaned forward, covering your hand with his. “Stop. Just…talk to me,” he pleaded gently.

You hated it when he did that because you hated that it still affected you on some deep level. You rolled your eyes and moved your hand from underneath his, placing it in your lap. “They approached me about six months out from when you left.”

“Who approached you?”

Yeah, you weren’t giving him that. If you did, you knew he’d be on their doorstep in a second and that you couldn’t have. Not after you had just cleaned up the Solano mess and smoothed things over. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.” You knew that, could see it in his expression, but too bad. You both were in it now, had signed NDA’s, and details like that were meant to stay confidential anyway. 

“Someone did and that’s all you're getting.” You gave him a meaningful look. “Regardless, they offered me a job and I took it.”

You watched as Russell’s features tightened. “And the FBI thing?”

“Still active, though I’m now kept more as an ear to the ground, providing information and cleanup when need be.” You noticed a slight wince cross across his face. “They’re the ones I answer to and they’ve chosen to keep me there for the time being. I’m more effective in that setup.” Those words from your handler still burned you but over time, you had been able to adapt and utilize their refusal to fully bring you in to your advantage.

“And Solano and his men? Were they cleanup?”

You didn’t break away from his penetrating gaze and gave it to him straight. “You and Doug made quite a mess of things. So, yes, I was called in to clean it up.” He briefly closed his eyes in the same pain you had seen earlier, though you couldn’t fathom why. It had been nearly three years since he’d last professed to give a shit about you. Why would this even affect him? “Horizon wanted you kept clean and Doug was on his own. Then you idiotically showed up at Ann’s residence, not only tipping them off to the fact that you were sniffing around where you shouldn’t have been but then you allowed Colter to threaten them. You had to know that was going to ruffle quite a few feathers and put a target on your backs.”

His jaw clenched again and that dark void was back in his gaze. His fingers twitched near his phone and you knew he was itching to call his brother to check on him. “And they sent you to clean that up, too?”

You slowly shook your head. “No.” If they had, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Most likely, you’d be dead while Colter and Russell would hopefully be on the run or have gone into hiding. “Only to assess what threats you both posed to the organization.”

“And what was your assessment?” He watched you carefully. In this moment, you weren’t former lovers. You were two people with lethal skills and training, willing to do whatever it took to keep your loved ones safe, even from each other. 

You never broke away from his gaze, watching him back just as carefully. “What do you think?”

He stayed quiet for a moment, looking pensive and most likely turning your words over in his mind. You weren’t going to say it but knowing that gnawing feeling of constantly worrying about someone you cared deeply about, you wanted to make sure you both were on the same page of this topic. “And, Russell, if they had sent me for that, I never would.” His gaze immediately met yours. “Ever,” you promised. 

His eyes roamed over your face, most likely assessing if you were bullshitting him or telling the truth. Obviously having decided on the latter, after a minute or so, he gave you a nod. “How do you know they accepted your assessment, though? There’s no way they don’t know about you and Colter, you and me…”

This time, your jaw was the one clenching. Yeah, you were made aware of that fact when you had been approached for recruitment. That was how they knew about you, your career as a Federal agent, and how you had been involved with Russell once upon a time. When you found out more about Horizon from the inside, it didn’t surprise you one bit how deeply they dove into the background of their candidates or the amount of information they gathered on them. You’d even helped put together a few files yourself, without fully knowing what unit the candidates were being considered for of course. They kept a close watch on their assets and that was putting it lightly. 

So when you got involved with Russell, completely oblivious to what you were really getting into, Horizon had already scoped you out as well as Colter, Dory, their mother, Bobby, Reenie, Teddi, Velma — everyone. Even Colter’s on-again/off-again, Billie, and the mysterious circumstances of the death of the boys’ father. They knew it all. Horizon didn’t like surprises and you supposed you couldn’t blame them considering their line of work, but it also meant that you and everyone you cared about needed to be extra careful. 

It was one of the many reasons you couldn’t completely forgive Russell, though you now understood why he’d walked out when he did. Things had unraveled so badly between you that you’d started quietly digging into Horizon, not trusting what Russell had told you prior. Back then, you thought you’d find only what Russell had claimed: private security, perhaps a couple of Special Ops situations where an American hostage was retrieved in another country, or worse: he was lying to you and having an affair. Now, you knew he had told you the truth — a very scrubbed, limited version of the truth that omitted most of what he really did for the outfit. You remembered what he’d told you about a week and a half before he left. 

“You need to stop digging.” 

You looked upon him with confusion. One minute, you had been having a very tense and silent dinner where you could only hear forks scraping against the plates every so often, and the next, Russell was glaring over at you, speaking cryptically. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You need to stop looking into Horizon and leave it alone. I mean it, Y/N. Let it be.” His eyes bored into you with warning before he got up from the table and took his plate into the kitchen, leaving you to finish your meal alone.    

Normally, you wouldn’t have listened, determined to get to the bottom of Russell’s mysterious employer, but considering how your relationship was hanging by a thread at that point, you did. Despite the warning bells going off in your head, you did as exactly as he said: you let it be. 

You suddenly remembered Russell’s question to you. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

Russell affected a slow nod, thinking it over. “And Colter?”

“I told them he’s no threat,” you murmured. “I talked to him, told him to forget they exist. He agreed as long as you were safe.”

For the first time since this conversation started, you could see Russell start to relax a bit, relief saturating his features. Even a small smile started to light up the tension in his face. While you could understand the feeling, share it even, something about it had you on your feet, walking over to the small refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water from the six pack you had tossed in there when you booked the room. You held one up in an offer but Russell shook his head. 

“I’m good.”

You shrugged, unsurprised, and twisted off the cap, taking a drink. It made sense that he was still being cautious. Before you knew it, though, he was standing in front of you, that pleading yet determined look in his eyes again. 

“I want to get you out.”

You snorted. “There is no getting out, Russell. Not for me, anyway. Not until they’re done with me.”

He took a step closer and gently took the water bottle from you, placing it on the counter, and grasped your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “There’s always an exit strategy,” he murmured. “I never wanted this for you, Y/N. I only ever wanted to keep you safe. That’s why I left.”

Yeah, you knew that now, too. “I know that now. Why you wouldn’t tell me certain things about your job, but, Jesus, Russell. Did you really think they didn’t already know about me and who I was to you? Colter even? Dory? Your mom?”

He let out a deep sigh and hung his head, letting your chin go. “I know. I… It was a good fit for me at the time, the money was good — that’s why I hooked Doug up with them. But seeing how they hung him out to dry at the first opportunity and now you,” He tenderly ran his thumb along your cheek. “I’m seriously starting to rethink that decision.”

You pulled away from him. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t unring that bell.” You made your way back over to the bed and yanked your duffel bag from underneath it. You unzipped it and began rooting through it to make sure you had everything you needed for a quick getaway. You didn’t think you needed to go anywhere but now this location was blown for you since you had made the decision to let Russell know about it. You had already triple checked your stash when you left it here upon check-in but you needed something to focus on instead of the clear regret in Russell’s face. “And as for me, I made my decision.” You pulled out a gun from a secret compartment, checked the clip to make sure it was full, and slipped it back inside. “I’m good with it. I’ve used it fully to my advantage and I make good money, more than I was ever going to make at the Bureau, even if they fast-tracked me to Deputy Director. Solano was on our Most Wanted List for twenty six days and I took him out in one. Had he possibly gone free, there’s no telling what he would have done, who he would have hurt besides Doug.” You knew exactly what he would have done and who he would have hurt; he’d told you in explicit detail. You didn’t go into it but Russell wasn’t stupid (not when it came to things like this anyway). He most likely knew as well. He’d wanted to close up Solano as a loose end himself after all. “That kind of cleanup I can more than live with.”

Russell carefully approached, his eyes on the second gun you had pulled out and were checking. “I get that and I more than appreciate what you did with Solano. For Doug, for Colter and me.” Once you slipped the weapon back into its pocket, he laid a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to look over at him. “You can’t tell me, though, that this is what you want for your endgame. Not really.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “I don’t have an endgame, Russell. Maybe I did once but you took that the second you walked out the door, acting like everything we’d gone through meant nothing to you, like I meant nothing to you.” 

There was that remorse again and you despised it. “I’m sorry, I…handled that badly,” he admitted.

“Handled it badly?” You laughed in disbelief. You shirked his hand off of you and moved to the night table, yanking the drawer open to rip out the bible sitting in there. You opened it to the area you had cut out to hold emergency cash and cards, just like Russell had taught you once upon a time. “You told me I’d been nothing to you but a fling for the past four years, that you might have loved me once but you didn’t anymore. That I was…how did you put it? A fun distraction.” You slammed the bible shut and tossed it back into the drawer before closing it. You hurried back over to the bag, throwing the funds inside another secret compartment, more than done with this conversation.

“You’re right, I fucked up. I only said those things to—”

“Cut the cord, yeah, I know. Still doesn’t make it right,” you muttered, roughly zipping the duffel back up. 

“I wanted you to be safe. You were digging into them, even after I told you not to! And worse, you were pulling Colter into it!”

That quickly got your attention and you spun on your heel, jabbing a finger in the air at him. “Don’t you fucking dare lay Colter at my feet. Especially after what you just pulled last week. It wasn’t me hauling him into Doug’s case! Not to mention, way before you met me, the minute you took that job, you put everyone you knew on their radar and you know it! So don’t you fucking dare. I have been doing everything I can to make sure Colter is safe and doesn’t pull their attention, poring over every case he takes in the background to ensure they’re not involved or have any vested interests that are. Hell, I even just used a contact of mine to float a case over to Teddi and Velma to get him out of town and far away from here to continue keeping him safe. Me, Russell! Me! And what did you do to keep him safe? You blow back into town and not only put him even more on their radar, you deliver him right to their goddamn doorstep! So don’t you dare even try to put that on me,” you finished in a snarl. 

Shame lurked at the corners of his eyes and you scoffed in disgust, whirling around to grab your jacket from the bed before picking up the duffel bag and slinging the handle over your shoulder. “So glad we had this talk,” you sniped. “Now go have fun with the cheerleading dental hygienist or Reenie,” You could see more shame looking back at you. Unlike the hot tub conquest, Colter had actually told you about that one. You could tell how much it was bothering him and you knew he wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise, knowing it wasn’t something you really wanted to hear. “Or that bartender you holed up with three weeks after you walked out on me,” Now you could see surprise; you could care less. “Or whoever you want. But me? I’m done. Have a nice life, Russell Shaw, and try not to get killed before you get out to start your little brewery operation. Oh, and try to manage not to get your brother or me killed in the process, yeah? Thanks ever so much. See ya.” 

You were walking towards the door when you were grabbed and whipped around. Before you could react, Russell was on you, his mouth covering yours and his hands gripping your face. “I love you,” he breathed against your lips after breaking away to let you catch your breath. “I’m sorry I said what I did back then but it wasn’t the truth. It took everything I had to walk away but as long as you were safe, that was all that mattered to me. I fucked up and I am sorry. I never stopped loving you, Y/N. Not ever.” 

He wiped at your cheeks and you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying. Shit. Well, that was embarrassing. Even more embarrassing was how much you wanted to believe him. You knew he was telling the truth about why he walked away, how he wanted to keep you safe, but it obviously hadn’t been as difficult for him to move on as it had been for you. “No, you don’t,” you choked out. “If that were true, you would have never walked out that door.” Your voice wobbled on those last few words and you hated it, hated how vulnerable you were being to him right now.

You wiped at your own cheeks and turned around, ignoring the pleading you saw once again in his eyes. 

“Y/N, please,” he ground out.

You kept moving towards the door. As you laid your hand on the door handle to turn it, you were whipped around one more time and he was kissing you yet again, your back pressed up against the wood. Except this time, you finally threw in the towel and gave in to what your damaged heart had been wanting all of this time. You buried your fingers in his hair and kissed him back just as passionately, not caring that more tears rolled down your cheeks as you did. He yanked the duffel bag from you and let it fall into a heap on the floor before lifting you up and turning to carry you over to the bed. You knew this was going to hurt like hell later but you refused to put a stop to it. You’d find a way to numb the pain when it ripped you open a second time, just like you always had. 

The only thought running through your mind as he laid you down and ripped your blouse open, sending buttons flying everywhere, was that you had been right. You knew the bastard had been lying earlier when you’d caught him looking between you and the bed. But right then as he lifted away from you to quickly shed his top layers and then dove back down to kiss you again and melt into you, your fingers greedily relearning every inch of his bare skin, you couldn’t care less.   

You reached your hand over, tenderly running a finger along the edges of the bandage on Russell’s arm. “Does it hurt?” You murmured.

“A little.” He turned his head to smile down at you. “More than worth it, though.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his chuckle at you gently pushing his head away, and turned onto your back. Russell embraced you with his other arm, pulling you into him. You rested your ear against his bare chest, hearing his steady heartbeat and settling your gaze on the ceiling above you. He pressed a kiss to your head, letting his lips linger against your hair, as his thumb rubbed your shoulder back and forth.

After a few minutes of content silence between you, you put voice to the question resounding in your mind. “How did we get here, Russell?”

“Well, you drove us over and then we—”

You softly swatted his chest, making him laugh and hearing the sound reverberate underneath your ear. “You know what I mean.”

“I wish I knew the best way to answer that, “ he whispered to you. You could hear the genuine regret in his tone and it made you start thinking about when you both would have to leave this motel room, and go back to the separate lives you had been living. Memories of lazy mornings like this back when you had been together, of you listening to his voice in your ear and knowing you were safe and loved, replayed in your mind on a loop. You would never admit it to him but you missed this, missed him. Nothing had felt right in the last couple of years like this moment here did. If anything, all of that time felt like some weird drug-induced nightmare, and you had just woken up to find Russell here next to you, nothing having changed. But that wasn’t true; everything had changed.

Not wanting to think about that just yet, you picked up the hand that had been caressing your shoulder and studied the skin of his wrist. “This is new.” You trailed your finger along the design of the tattoo sitting there. “What prompted you to get this one?”

“That’s something Doug and I got one night when we met up with another one of the guys from our unit when he was in town. Tommy Laird. Good man.”

“A crown?”

Russell shrugged underneath you. “Tommy picked the design.”

“‘We three kings’, huh?”

You heard him chuckle. “Never thought of it like that but sure.”

“Is he also a part of Horizon?”

You felt him tense underneath you at the mention of the dark and deadly elephant in the room. “No. He, uh, he lives with his wife and three kids in North Carolina. They have a house in Cary and he went back to the family business when he got home.”

You nodded and pulled his wrist to you, placing your lips on his skin and tenderly kissing the middle of the design before letting him go. He hugged you closer to him and placed a kiss to your ear in turn, letting out what sounded like a contented sigh. 

A moment later, he murmured. “I want to help get you out.”

You nearly rolled your eyes again. You wanted to ask him why he was dead set on thinking that you even wanted out. Perhaps the you he had known would want a way out, want something more out of life than money and secrets and cleanups, but you had changed a lot in the last three years. But you knew if you posed that question, it would shatter the cocoon you currently found yourselves in and you weren’t ready for that to end just yet. So instead, you reminded him of another angle of the truth. “That’s not possible. Not the way you’re thinking. You know that.”

“Anything’s possible.” You nearly smiled at his response; there was the stubborn streak that sometimes infuriated you and sometimes endeared you to him, like right now. But you needed to make sure you maintained a reality check for the both of you. You knew what he was really thinking.

“Even if it was, we can’t.”

His head lifted and he frowned down at you. “Why not?”

“This isn’t some Mr. and Mrs. Smith shit. We don’t get a happy ending,” you finished sadly, thinking back to the life you once shared together as you cupped his cheek and rubbed it gently with your thumb. “Not together. It’s too dangerous.” You left it at that but you knew that he was more than aware of what you meant. 

His frown intensified at your words and he covered your hand with his, turning to place a kiss into your palm. “We’ll work it out.”

“Russ,” you sighed.

He gently grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking into your eyes. “We’ll work it out,” he softly repeated, that glint of determination back in his gaze. 

You decided once more that you wouldn’t bother launching into the many reasons it actually wouldn’t work out and you would refrain from popping that bubble he had just wrapped you both in. That moment would come later. But for now, you continued to keep silent.

When he noticed you weren’t going to say anything, a mischievous smile began to form on that handsome face you loved. “You know, I don’t really have anything planned for today. How about you?”

Other than some paperwork you had to go over later, your day was pretty much free, too. Even if it hadn’t been, you knew that look and after this morning, despite still having some unresolved anger with him, despite things that still needed to be said between you, you would have freed up your schedule immediately. “I don’t think I’ll be missed for a while,” you teased.

He leaned in to kiss you, whispering to your lips, “Oh, you were missed. Very much fucking missed.” The impishness you had heard a moment before was now absent but he never gave you a chance to respond. Instead, he kissed you deeply and began moving to cover your body with his once again. He maneuvered himself in between your thighs, your legs automatically coming up to gently cradle his hips. “Your arm,” you broke away to warn him.

“Don’t care.” He lowered down to keep kissing you and surprisingly (or unsurprisingly perhaps), all was right in the world right then. You didn’t allow yourself to get swept away by it or by the fantasy of something that would never be. Sadly, the time for you and Russell to be together had come and gone. You’d had your chance and you both had blown it, with him starting you out of the gate. This right here, this was all that was left — like embers of a dying fire. You would always love him, you knew that (truthfully, you had always known it), but this was all you would ever have. Once you both walked out that door, you would be walking in separate directions, taking different paths in your lives, no matter what Russell would say. 

But for right now, you allowed yourself to live in the moment, to enjoy it as he groaned into your mouth when your hand helped guide him to where you both wanted him to be. You held onto him as he began a slow movement within you, knowing you would need to take over again very soon when his left arm began to tremble. But until then you kept him close to you, drank deeply of him, and reveled in what the two of you had always managed to create together, content to keep Horizon and the rest of the world on the other side of the motel room door, if only for a moment longer. 

A/N: I know I left some things open and unresolved. I wanted to do that to let this be a gateway to the continuing story in the short series coming titled "Closer". Please let me know if you would like to be tagged in the series.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[somegrumpynerd]

HEY. POINTS FINGER… any thoughts on how everyone reacted when the other joined the team? as in how did killer react when dust came, how did he and dust react when horror came, how did they all react when cross came, etc. i love love LOVE your bad sanses thoughts way too much they make me so happy. if i write hurt you write comfort and it’s awesome. also how do you think they slowly started to get closer? just.. bah give me your thoughts on them!!!! any thoughts!!!!!!!!!

You fool!! You’ve given me a chance to ramble about my special little guys and now this post will stretch on forever!! Mwahahahahah >:3c

No but seriously this is probably gonna be wicked long cause I have 1 million thoughts about these guys joining and meeting each other so uh, readmore for everybody’s safety and sanity

(^ I wrote that in the document before I started typing out my actual thoughts and uh

yeah no kidding, this is like a fucking essay so proceed with caution)

OKAY SO

I’ve said before that Nightmare got Dust for two reasons; one being that Dream had just recently started working with Ink (and soon Blue) so he and Killer were no longer able to gang up on Dream. He wanted somebody else to bulk up their numbers and give Killer a little back up. He also was starting to realise that Killer didn’t handle being alone very well, since this was when he most often got worked up and broke things around the castle (and sometimes tipped over into stage 3). Dust would be a perfect fit since he had the same amount of lvl and fighting experience as Killer, and since they were so close in circumstance they would be practically like brothers right?

The irony that he thought this about a guy he was recruiting to help kill his brother was apparently lost on him.

They absolutely hated each other. Like, it was instant. Killer saw him as a replacement, why would boss go out and get another sans - one with almost the same backstory as me - when I’m right here? Does he think I’m not good enough? Am I disposable and this is the backup for when I die in combat? He didn’t take it well. He took it all out on Dust too, not cooperating in battle, trying to start fights in the castle, etc. He couldn’t outright kill him because Nightmare had given him strict orders not to, but Killer loves a loophole. If he roughed Dust up down to 1hp and something else happened to finish him off, technically he’d followed orders.

Dust just straight up didn’t want to be there. Nightmare just showing up and yoinking him had worked fine with Killer, but Dust had wanted to sit in his empty au and die, he had no intention of joining a team or doing work of any kind - good or bad. The only reason he didn’t just lie down and refuse the entire time was that he had to fight back against Killer, as much as he wanted to die he refused to give this ass the satisfaction or lvl. He didn’t intend to be any help out in the field either, but again, Killer was making sure he got fired at so he had to retaliate to stay alive.

Eventually it got bad enough that Nightmare had to pull Killer aside and demand answers. In the year or so of knowing him Killer had never willfully disobeyed orders before, so Nightmare needed to know what had gotten into him. He dispelled the replacement rumour right away, he still wasn’t quite softened up enough to be sappy about it but he made sure Killer understood what a good worker he was and that Nightmare had no intention of losing him. It didn’t help a lot, they still hated each other for other reasons, but it eased a little.

Killer still had pretty frequent dips into stage 3, except now he would go straight for Dust usually. Nightmare had tried to explain what he’d learned about it to Dust, but he didn’t really believe that it wasn’t just Killer deciding to try and kill him for funsies. He only accepted it after a particular episode where he attacked Nightmare instead, which Dust knew Killer wouldn’t try in his right mind.

After he came back to his senses he sought Dust out. The air around Killer was very different after a stage 3, sort of sombre and almost calm, so Dust let them sit together and Killer apologised for giving him such a hard time. They actually talked for the first time in months while Killer was still calm (or tolerable, as Dust describes it), and it didn’t magically fix everything but, things were a little better. They still fought and argued and bothered each other but it wasn’t as sharp, there was a lack of real murderous intent in it all, and sometimes after an episode they would talk a little bit. It was the best Nightmare was going to get for now, so he took it.

They were still completely incompetent about taking care of themselves though. Neither of them would eat unless prompted and Nightmare didn’t have good enough knowledge of mortals to know when that should be to stop them passing out from hunger on the job. Not to mention the stars were now a full team, and with the way Killer and Dust would sometimes rather target each other on the field he could do with more backup.

Horror was the first of the group to get a choice in joining. Nightmare had taken note of how much Dust didn’t want to be part of things, and while it was in his best interests in the long run given his situation, Horror’s au was still mostly intact - though a little in disrepair. Horror was also the first in the group to have a good (and ongoing) relationship with his brother, so Nightmare knew he couldn’t just pop in and steal him, he had to be a bit more diplomatic with this one and offer a deal.

He gave Horror some time to think on his proposal - he would set up regular deliveries of food to Horror’s au in exchange for him joining their team - and was quite surprised when Horror agreed, with some stipulations. Horror was equally surprised when Nightmare agreed so easily to his terms (that he didn’t want his brother to know what he’d be doing, and that he wouldn’t kill). A little down the line the terms were altered to add that he would also be left to visit his au every week or so.

Horror was not impressed meeting the other two. He didn’t need his power as judge anymore to sense the lvl coming off them both, and given who they were working for he was instantly distrustful of them both (the uh, brother situation did not help). He was also in a place that had an abundance of food for the first time in probably years, so he was doing a lot of going hog wild in the kitchen and then getting very sick as a result.

Dust didn’t particularly feel anything for him. This guy hated him, sure, but it wasn’t forward and slashy like with Killer, it was just quiet loathing which was fine. That’s how Dust felt about himself so, y’know, mood. He did kind of feel sorry for him though, not just because of the whole famine and everything, but also because he was watching this guy eat like his life depended on it and then get sick and undo it day after day. He was the one who suggested Horror getting his food in moderation to Nightmare, which did help but was an absolute ordeal to enforce. Y’know how some people get hangry? Imagine that but you haven’t had a proper meal in years and now these people give you tiny amounts of food and don’t let you eat more for hours. The hunger mood swings were a sight to behold, you would never have guessed in those days that Horror specified not wanting to kill.

When his ability to eat had evened out and he was in better shape, Horror made a point of apologising to Dust for being aggressive with him. Over time he’d kind of softened up on him from his initial impression, since he could see plainly how wracked with guilt Dust was over his situation. It was a little easier to imagine that whatever he’d done was truly out of desperation and not just for fun, as Horror had assumed at first sight. 

They also both retained that classic sans laziness, so it was easy for them to share a space while saying and doing nothing. It made Horror the first person that Dust willingly spent time around in the castle (and vice versa since Horror was still largely suspicious of Nightmare and Killer - the deal seemed too good to be true and the stage 3 episodes didn’t help). As time went on, Horror kind of became Dust’s emotional support skeleton in a way. Dust had become quite averse to touch in his solitude and Horror very slowly brought him back out with casual gentle touches, until not only did he no longer freeze or stiffen at being grabbed but Dust would seek him out to flop next to on the couch. Horror claimed it was just returning the favour for helping with his eating situation, but really it was nice to have something resembling a friend here.

Killer, for his part, was going through This is My Replacement 2: Electric Boogaloo. Not to the same degree as with Dust, since Horror was quite a bit different, but Killer was still wary of this new addition. He didn’t really instigate anything though since, to be honest, Horror had the intimidation factor. He was like a foot taller than both of them, he had a cracked skull and completely different magic and it seemed like every time Killer saw him he was eating bread like a wolf eats a deer. So while he was going through his food moderating, Killer mostly just stayed quiet and kept his distance.

Horror had not softened on him like he had with Dust, since Killer didn’t openly show remorse. He still watched him with distrust, especially after seeing the way he scrapped with Dust for seemingly no reason other than for violence’s sake. Killer was still mostly targeting Dust in his stage 3s, but Horror had to be careful to stay out of his way since he was still working with much lower hp than the other two. What did start to convince him was seeing how similar Killer and Dust were after a stage 3 episode. Once Killer was slightly more composed (ie stopped crying), he became so tired and quiet and blunt about things he normally joked his way around. It was a little startling, but also started to bring Horror around to the idea that Killer might regret his actions too, just buried under several layers of whatever the hell is also wrong with him at any given time.

Killer and Horror only really started interacting after talking about Dust. Killer was asking how he got Dust to like him since he seems to hate everyone and everything else, Horror told him very pointedly it was because he wasn’t trying to kill Dust. Killer admitted he wasn’t trying to kill Dust, at least not anymore, he just wanted to fight for fun. It opened up a better channel of understanding, knowing that Killer did not actually have murderous intent behind his swings (stage 3 notwithstanding). It made it easier for Horror to occasionally get involved in the roughhousing which Killer delighted in, knowing that the other two knew how to hold back enough to keep him from dusting.

Speaking of stage 3, it was around this time that Killer and Dust made a very important deal. After a particularly rough episode with a little too close of a call, Killer showed up in Dust’s room and begged him shakily to make a promise - that if he ever got too out of control during one of his stages, Dust would kill him. He’d been told over and over by Nightmare that it was impossible for Killer to hurt him since he was immortal, but now there were more people around him where that wasn’t the case, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he came out of a stage and found himself alone. Dust promised.

It’s also worth mentioning that, once they were all close enough to be on speaking terms, Horror started bullying the shit out of these two about eating. Now that Horror knew neither of them were going to kill him, he felt safe enough to pick them up by the scruff and set them at the table to say they weren’t leaving until they had at least a snack. He let them pick what they would eat - he wasn’t that cruel about it - but he had to see them eat at least 3 times a day or they would hear about it.

It was by no means perfect or regular, but after about half a year Nightmare finally had henchmen who ate food and worked together (mostly).

Now here’s the problem… I still haven’t really figured out how or why Cross joined the team. Like, obviously there’s some kind of point in the events of underverse where it splits off into an alternate timeline, but I haven’t really figured out where yet so. Leave that one with me just a little longer. Cross joins.

Nightmare really truly didn’t intend to take anyone else in. They were (mostly) getting along, they were pretty well matched to fight the stars, he had no need of more mortals.

…but he was also pretty soft at this point. Every one of them had taken a blow to his I’m immortal I’m an island I don’t get attached to others persona and he’d gotten pretty damn fond of them all. This was why when he felt the sheer weight of loneliness radiating off of Cross, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave him.

So Cross entered the castle. 

He did not particularly intend to stay or make friends, he was trying to get his world back and nothing more. He even revealed a little down the line that he outright refused to kill, and was quite surprised to find that Nightmare was fine with that. At the start he was polite but not friendly with the others and mostly kept to himself.

Dust, as is often the case, did not really have an opinion. Another new guy, this one was self sufficient and didn’t bother him so he had no reason to get involved. He was content to be in the same room as Cross but didn’t start up any conversations.

Horror felt the need to speak to Cross, since Dust would happily stay silent for years and Killer was, well, Killer. Horror was somehow the closest thing to normal they had, so he was the one that made small talk. Mostly asking what Cross would like for meals and encouraging him to pick something he liked when he got the answer of “anything is fine”. As Cross settled in a bit more and actually opened up, they bonded over being the only two to enjoy food. Horror made a point of adding chocolate to the stock they kept in the kitchen and making tacos here and there for Cross.

Horror was also the first Cross kind of warmed to, mostly because he was the one devoid of lvl and Nightmare had mentioned he’d also said he wouldn’t kill. Learning a little about his au’s situation only softened Cross to him more, especially seeing that he still cared a lot for his brother and was trying to protect his home (even if Cross found it unthinkable that he lived away from it). It was through Horror that he also got accustomed to Dust, how being quiet and distant was kind of his default and that he also felt deeply haunted by the loss of his world. They weren’t exactly friends, but it was comfortable enough.

So now boss had taken in another new person, someone who takes orders like a soldier and fights with knives and ruthless precision and aims to be his righthand man, and Killer was ecstatic. By now he’d mostly put his fears of being disposable behind him, Nightmare had gotten a bit less subtle in showing how important they all were to him and Killer felt confident he wouldn’t be replaced. Which was a little bit funny, because the only guy he didn’t feel threatened by was the one who absolutely competed for his spot.

Cross needed to prove he was useful, he had to feel like he earned his keep and that all the training and suffering he’d done was for a reason. When Nightmare sent them on missions, Cross aimed to be the fastest and the most efficient and to report to Nightmare without question. Horror and Dust looking on would have expected Killer to see this 100% as a threat to his position as (self proclaimed) Nightmare’s second in command, and to go for this guy’s throat when nobody else was around.

But Killer was fascinated. Cross was completely different from any of them, bar Nightmare whose au is a whole different kettle of fish, so he had a certain element of unpredictability to him. Horror and Dust were both based on classic sans just like him, so to a certain degree he knew how they would feel about most things and what they might say, the only differences being in what they had experienced through their own timelines. Cross was based on a swap sans and his au had taken wild twists and turns away from usual events, so Killer had to learn everything about him by poking and prodding for answers or observing from a distance, much like back when it was just him and Nightmare. Cross was something new to be studied and Killer loved taking notes.

Cross did not see this as friendly. He was competing with Killer for approval, not realising Killer was playing their contest like a game. When he saw Cross training he would jump in to spar for fun, but Cross saw his rival trying to get a jump on him and take him out of the running. When Killer would hang around and pester Cross in their off time with questions, it didn’t seem like someone taking interest, it seemed like someone being nosy and looking for weaknesses to exploit. When Horror mentioned that Killer was being surprisingly contained and friendly, Cross really thought he was fucking with him.

The first time Cross was willing to even consider this was the case was when his locket came loose on the field and Killer ran back to find it, since one of the notes he’d taken was how the locket wasn’t something Cross would play about (the same as Horror with food). It didn’t make sense for someone who was seriously competing to have him kicked out to just hand his necklace back, no ransoms or attempts to crush it to upset him, just some vague remark about “owing him one” and then right back to Nightmare for orders.

Cross had to give him something of a chance after that, Horror helped a lot by telling him “he doesn’t want to hurt you, he just doesn’t know how to be normal”. It was mostly a playful jab at Killer, but reframing their interactions changed it significantly for Cross. Now they were sparring playfully and having friendly competition on jobs. He wasn’t as put off when Killer went into stage 3 because he knew he could match him in combat and the others were always on hand to help restrain or distract him. Cross also took note of how Killer calmed down a lot for physical touch, not unlike how Dust had warmed up to Horror. It went a long way into not only making him a little less combative for attention every day, but it seemed to put longer stretches between his episodes (which Cross had also started tracking so they wouldn’t be caught out by them as much).

For his part, Killer has disobeyed instructions in the past to benefit Cross, usually ignoring the task to help him if he’s hurt. He’s also given Nightmare nudges towards praising him because he’s noted that that’s what Cross needs in the same way he needs touch (not that Nightmare doesn’t praise them normally, but when Cross is going through it and needs something). He also doesn’t particularly like chocolate but has made a point of not admitting this to Horror so he can give his chocolate to Cross.

(It’s also worth noting that Cross is the only one, besides Nightmare, that has been to Horror’s au. He offered to help out during the food delivery and got to meet Horror’s Papyrus (who he is a little intimidated by but ultimately friendly with, even though it’s a little weird since he’s a good bit different from his own Papyrus). Dust and Killer can’t really visit for a few reasons, mostly because everyone will notice their lvl immediately and know what they’ve done. Dust especially doesn’t know how he would react to having a Papyrus in front of him again and doesn’t want to put Horror's family at risk to find out. Whenever he visits, his Papyrus asks about Cross now and sometimes tries to make tacos for him (key word tries, he’s still a Papyrus after all). He may have joked that seeing Cross sometimes is “like having another brother but younger and less lazy” and when Horror told him this Cross may or may not have cried.)

And that’s where we are now!

They’re a very strange group who’ve been through some inexplicable events and have all changed each other in one way or another. And whether or not it can be admitted, they are a family c:

Now onto how Nightmare was made emotionally open by each of them!! In this essay I will no just kidding could you imagine this is already like 7 pages long

If you got to the end of this post please drink some water and get yourself a snack

[cavegirlpoems]

smacking the kink discourse hornet nest with a baseball bat

I think in some discussions of kink we focus too much on the elements of power and roleplay and fantasy and such, and don't mention another factor which is - I think - equally at play. Namely:

Pain and discomfort can be a sensation that people enjoy and seek out.

That is: sensations that are described as painful can still be pleasant. People can want to experience certain kinds of pain, for fun, because it feels nice.

An example. I have a friend - let's call him Ringo - who is super super into curries and hot sauces and spice. It's way too much for me, and if I try the foods he raves about its just unpleasant. But to Ringo the harsh burn of capsacin is one he actively enjoys! He goes out of his way to find restaurants that make extremely spicy curries, and can talk at length about the way the burn develops and plays with the other flavours in the dish.

This is a man seeking out a painful sensation because he finds it feels nice.

It's pretty well recognised that pain and exertion can release endorfins. People get really into things like combat sports because it produces a buzz! the adrenaline, the sensation of being battered by your sparring partner, the exertion. They enjoy it!

Fuck, this covers all sorts of situations. The pursuit of extreme, potentially uncomfortable sensations happens all over the place. People go on scary rollercoasters and eat hot curries, and get deep rough massages and enjoy the burn of alcoholic spirits and go to loud metal concerts and get in mosh pits and drive too fast and run marathons and all sorts of things. Its fun.

Some people just find (say) the sensation of being whipped feels nice. Some people enjoy the sensation of their movements being restrained. Some people enjoy the head-rush from breathplay.

This isn't the only element, obviously, but some people just really like the way it feels to bite somebody or be bitten, and sex is the activity of 'doing physical actions that feel nice' and it's really not necessarily more complex than that.

[yelenasdiary]

Oh a shy Yelena who doesn't want to admit her feelings?

Drabble || I'm Listening

Pairing: Yelena Belova x GN! Reader

Summary: Yelena's feelings for you grow bigger every day, but she isn't sure how to tell you how she feels.

Fluff, Tiny Angst

Warnings: This is not proof read or corrected | K

AC: Thank you for sending this!! I miss my shy little assassin! I hope you enjoy x

Each day got harder and harder for the blonde to act as if her growing feelings for you weren’t starting to get in the way of her day-to-day life. She couldn’t believe the hold you had on her, everything she ever knew, all her training never prepared her for you.

No power she had ever known had the strength your smile had, no diamond in the world sparkled brighter than your eyes and not even her favourite song could compare to the sound of your laugh. It has taken many months for Yelena to understand her feelings for you, but she was still too shy to act on them.

“You coming for a run, Belova?” You asked, snapping Yelena out of her day dreaming. She shook her head, “I have other things to do, sorry. Maybe another time” She replied before quickly making her way out of the room, her heart beating faster than before when you had walked in.

Her recent behaviour concerned you, she was distant towards you, skipping out on plans or giving you poor excuses to avoid hanging out with you one on one. You assumed that maybe she had just been going through something and believed she’d come to you if she was ready.

You weren’t the only one who picked up on the blondes recent behaviour, Natasha from a distance quickly saw the shift in her sister and was smart enough to put two and two together. Although Yelena had never gone to Nat about her feelings for other people, mainly when she had discovered something of interest to her and wanted to share it with her sister.

“How long are you doing to brush them off” Natasha asked, interrupting Yelena’s focus on sharpening her combat knife.

“What are you talking about?” Yelena looked up at the red head. Natasha smirked, “you know what I’m talking about sestra”

“No, I don’t” Yelena replied rather bluntly.

“Y/n. You’ve been brushing them off for weeks now” Natasha spoke, taking a seat across from YelenaMs work bench. Yelena’s eyes drop back to the weapon in her hands, trying to ignore the warm feeling her cheeks suddenly had. “I’ve been busy” the Russian mumbled.

“Yeah? How many times have you cleaned and sharpened those knives? Or how many new modifications have you been experimenting on your widow bites?” Natasha teased. Yelena’s secret was clearly known to her older sister.

Yelena sighed heavily, “what do you want Natasha?” She asked in an irritated tone.

“Hey, I’m wouldn’t be your caring sestra if I didn’t tease you about these things” Natasha playfully smirk. “Any reason you haven’t told them how you feel?” She asked.

“Ha! What makes you think somebody like them would want somebody like me? I’m damaged goods and they don’t need that” Yelena replied, showing more of her insecurities to Natasha than she realised.

“We’re all damaged goods around here if you think about it. You’re scared yeah? Worried of rejection?”

Yelena looked up at her sister once more, “I’ve never been in this situation before. I’ve never had feelings like this and I don’t want to look like a stupid fool telling them” she confessed.

“But what if you’re missing out on something good?" Natasha pointed out, "if there is anything I have learnt it's that we let too many good things slip through our fingers because we believe we don't deserve them. You deserve to be happy Yelena & if Y/n makes you happy, I think you should go for it and tell them how you feel" she added.

Yelena nodded lightly as she let Nat's words sink in, what if she was missing out on something amazing because she was too shy and nervous to tell you how she really felt? Her eyes dropped to the knife in her hands once more, "don't overthink it, okay?" Natasha said before leaving the room.

Later the day, Yelena seen you sitting under a big oak tree outside reading a book that Wanda had lent you. Natasha's advise circle around in her mind as she slowly walked up too you hoping not to startle you but you heard her coming, her footsteps crunching the leafs on the ground. You looked up and smiled softly at her, "hey there, wanna join me? The fresh air is refreshing" you spoke.

"Uh, sure" Yelena smile as she sat down beside you.

There was a moment of silence, the birds sung as the wind floated by. "So, what's been on your mind Belova? you haven't really been yourself recently" you spoke, looking over to her. She took a deep breath, "well, actually...there's something I need to talk to you about" she replied.

"Go ahead" you smiled softly to comfort her, "I'm listening" you added.

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[cherrybomb107]

Okay, so, y’all already know I’m one of “those” Jinx stans(I don’t think she did anything truly monstrous and would defend her with my life). I feel this way for two main reasons: I see myself in her, and my personal biases kick in when it comes to my girl.

Now, I don’t consume fiction to make moralistic judgments of the characters; I’m here to have fun and be entertained. But, because stan culture has affected us all and made fandom discussions so personal and emotionally charged, I’ll bite. There are ppl in this fandom who won’t even call Silco a proper villain because of how nuanced he is. As if two things can’t be true; it is perfectly possible to be both nuanced AND a villain. Yet this same sympathy is not always expressed when talking about Jinx. Why is that?

Answer: misogyny and the demonizing of ppl with mental illness imo. Cause that’s the only plausible explanation I’m willing to accept why so many think of Jinx as a monster for killing cops, gang members, and asshole politicians, yet give all the grace in the world to Silco, who flooded the Lanes with Shimmer, had children working in his factories, was ready and willing to kill Powder before she hugged him, and waxed poetic about revolution when he never had any real plans of helping Zaun. He just wanted to be in charge. Like I said, I don’t consume fiction to make moralist judgments of the characters. But Silco’s actions are WAYYYY worse than Jinx’s, by a long shot.

And to my second point: my personal feelings. Disclaimer: ofc I don’t think killing ppl is right, nor am I an advocate for mindless slaughter. However, that is not what Jinx does. Her views on violence are incredibly warped due to the environment she grew up in. But even still, she NEVER harms innocent, non-combatants, much as some parts of this fandom likes to act like she does. I love the Firelights! I sympathize with their plight! But, they are literally a gang. And the ones that Ekko rolls with(Scar and the others) have inserted themselves into armed conflicts with Jinx before. They have been shown to be willing to use lethal force.

Silco is a drug kingpin. Jinx is his daughter. So no, I don’t think the daughter of a drug lord engaging in armed conflict with gang members makes her “monstrous”. It’s a street fight. Anything goes. If you pull up with bats and fists, and somebody else pull up guns ablazing, I do think that they’re responsible for escalating the conflict. I also think that in a street fight, you can’t pull up on someone and expect them to abide by the rules you set for yourself, yk? To continue this, as I said, the Firelights were willing to use lethal force. In episode six, when they interrupted Vi and Jinx’s reuinion, Scar knocked Vi out cold. He then raised his spear and was about to stab her in the back before Ekko stopped him. They then proceeded to kidnap Vi and Caitlyn. All of this because they followed Vi and THOUGHT that she was working for Silco! Is assaulting, almost killing, and kidnapping someone just because of your suspicions not “monstrous”? Or is it different because the Firelights are the “good guys”?

Now onto the Enforcers. Jinx sees the Enforcers as monsters who killed her parents right in front of her, and brutalized Zaunites all throughout her childhood. I know the show is fictional, but it touches on real life political themes. And our real life experiences inform how we consume fiction. I’m Black, female, queer, and from the US. The Enforcers are incredibly reminiscent of cops in my country. And if you know anything about the history of policing in this country, then you’d understand why I don’t give nary a fuck, nor a shit, nor a damn that Jinx kills Enforcers. Same sentiment applies to the Council. Fuck em🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

Tldr: I don’t think killing someone is the worst thing you can do to them. It’s about who you kill and how you do it. Jinx quickly kills cops, gang members, and politicians. I never have, nor will I ever, consider her doing so “monstrous”